


and then came love (and the conversations in-between)

by lovelycherryblondelocks



Series: we are but a smidgen in a sea of canvases [4]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Conversations of Love, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Romance, Slow Burn, Snippets of Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 14:34:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29636109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovelycherryblondelocks/pseuds/lovelycherryblondelocks
Summary: "He looks at Tsukishima like he wants to commit the whole of him to memory. Because he is sure that with every passing day, he will feel more deeply. He is sure that with every inch of his yearning, he will love better than before.Because in everything he does, Tetsurou is sure of Tsukishima Kei."Or, Tetsurou saves a boy from a suicide attempt.Thus begins a long-winded conversation of love.
Relationships: Implied Hinata Shouyou/Kuroo Tetsurou, Kuroo Tetsurou/Tsukishima Kei
Series: we are but a smidgen in a sea of canvases [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2007607
Comments: 26
Kudos: 44





	and then came love (and the conversations in-between)

**Author's Note:**

> hello again! it's been weeks worth of inactivity, hasn't it? i deeply apologize for that, i was utterly immersed in this new project that i have stalled the updates for my other works.
> 
> hopefully, you would be able to give this a bit of your time as well. as always, forgive me for any overlooked errors and i sincerely wish you a good read :>
> 
> PLEASE READ: this fic contains mentions of suicide (and deaths) so please proceed with caution.

.love begins in seasons.

** SPRING **

✽

_They say love takes precedence over everything._

_Love over hate. Love over regret. Love over trust - over hope and over faith._

_Love is a word that bears more power than anything in existence. Nothing comes before love._

_Tetsurou has engraved that adage in his mind longer than the beginning of his own existence. His mother devotedly committed herself to the lucidity of its preaching. And his father, though not one to luxuriate in the riddling and undecided notions of things, embraced the same understanding of the grand intangible that is love._

_Before Tetsurou was born, love had already made its existence clear. It preceded even the conception of his soul. Tetsurou believes that there is such a word that holds power and peril greater than the gods themselves. They tremble before the candour of its infinity, appearing more boundless than their impermanence._

_When he learned better of the world and the convolutions of its constructs - he mused, governed by that upfront smidgen of realisation, how frightening love could be._

_All it takes is for love to manifest and humanity would come crumbling down at its behest. And no man or god would be strong enough to dissuade it._

_To Tetsurou, the world is meant to love and so it is meant to conquer. Perhaps, it is even meant to ruin._

_Love is to curb the world of its entirety. And Tetsurou is merely a cog of a grander structure._

☾⇷☀⇸☽

The first time Tetsurou sees him, he cries crimson death.

The boy is no taller than the murky shadows of Austen's plinths. Jaded light streaks reach over his shoulders and dangle in the fleeting air. Gloom skulks behind the slouch of his nape and seeps through the quiver of his outstretched hands. He glimmers in arctic blues and morose purple, drawn over by the squiggling lines of crepuscule. Neither a whit of strength nor ounce of him is truly ready to jump off the high bridge.

Tetsurou gawks as the boy forces himself deeper into the railing's edge. He sees the tremors in his fingers, notes the twitch of hesitance that resides inside the clench of his fists and the insistent frost that numbs his lips. Tetsurou even glimpses at the wilting sway of his blonde locks. Feather-like. Almost fading and flimsy to the touch. He sniffs a smoke then counts, imagining the wispy strands between his nicotine-scented fingertips.

 _One, two, five_ \- ten minutes. The boy has been standing there for a total of ten minutes. Tetsurou figures it might have been an unprompted decision he'd barely reflected on twice. Perhaps he had gotten himself into an overwhelming shit-ton of trouble and drove himself mad. Or, he's simply the kind to act impulsively about his choices. Monday for school, Tuesday for mall - Wednesday for suicide. A sort of mundane schedule that trips blindly on its indecision.

It's not as though any of the possibilities actually matter to Tetsurou. His plans differ from the other. He'll wait for the boy to fall and then he'll swim him back to shore. An easy rescue, but a serious inconvenience for his uniform. Though, Tetsurou is willing to take whatever risk necessary to keep his turf clean of dead bodies.

Mist plagues the scenery and replaces it with tenuous anticipation. Tetsurou checks his wrist a myriad of times. And when he peers, eager for his last wait, the impatient hand of his watch nears its 59th mark - announcing 11 minutes in total. He draws out his vowels and exhales toxic fumes. Tetsurou reckons it will be another minute before the boy concedes and plummets to his supposed demise.

 _One, two ...fifteen, sixteen...thirty, thirty-one...forty_ -

Silence fills the serenity of lush soil. Breeze picks up its momentum and travels past swaggering reeds. There is a whiff of caution in the currents. Much like a ruffled gesture, an intent focus peaks and probes insistently on Tetsurou's lungs. It successfully nudges him off his unwary musings. Without complaint, he obliges to its instructions. A quick glance at his watch tells him the seconds are ticking faster.

Just as the clock cries 12, Tetsurou pulls himself up and dashes down the slope. The only goal carved at the forefront of his mind is the return of the boy to dry land. He gets his clothes soaked in wintry waters. The skin of his bare hands shrivels in distaste. Despite the chill and bite of disturbed ripples, Tetsurou manages to reach the boy in time.

There is a moment of repose - two bodies deep in the hold of a translucent stream. Tetsurou saves as much of the air as he can when he twines his fingers around scrawny elbows. As their distance closes, pushed by the force of hefty pressure, Tetsurou sees clearly through the willowy enchantment that painted his rescue.

Silky gold, ghostly white and mystic yellow - Tetsurou forces himself an instance of suspension, stalling to marvel at the boy that drifts unreservedly before his sight. It is only when they reach solid ground that Tetsurou regards the boy beyond his apparent phantom-like snare. He scans fastidiously his clothing, drenched and gelid to its very layer.

Donned in fitted slacks and maroon-stained blazer - Tetsurou realises belatedly the sophisticated St. Austen's badge fastened tight to his collar. It's glazed with red gloss, branded by the same school he attends.

"I didn't need that." It's the first the boy ever tells him. He lacks a distinct accent, raspy and worn down by the residue of water in his throat and scarce oxygen in his lungs. Shakily, the blond envelops himself with a vulnerable hug. He curls inwards, plopping on a spot exacted two meters away from Tetsurou.

The other surmises then and there that he's a snobbish brat. "You're welcome."

His company grits his teeth in mild irritation, pompous like the lustre of his polished shoes. "As I said, I didn't need that."

Tetsurou shrugs a shoulder and reclines on uneven ground. Bits of decimated cobbles feebly pricks his damp skin. Once relaxed, he lights himself a new cigarette and drowns in its smoke.

"Better luck next time, blondie. As long as I'm around, no one's dying in my river."

"You're not supposed to smoke here." The stranger returns him a sardonic tone, less rough but laden still with more snark. He presses down on his svelte legs as he regards Tetsurou with an impressionable stubbornness. Even as violet zephyr augments its torpid pace, his body is assuredly unrelenting.

Tetsurou applauds his steadfast act. "You're not supposed to be jumping off lofty heights either. Problems got too much for you?"

The boy makes a sound akin to a pitiful grumble. It drones, dimming in resignation. "That's none of your business."

"Suit yourself." Tetsurou nonchalantly replies. He offers a hand for the other to shake. "I'm Kuroo by the way."

The blond treats the offer with haughty detachment. "And?"

Tetsurou casually drops his hand. He's frankly unaffected by the bored reception. "Figured you might want to know the name of your saviour."

"You didn't save me." The boy adamantly insists. His glare is sharper now. Any thoughtless utterance and Tetsurou would have probably plunged himself into needless dispute. The boy makes it easy to imagine he'd have a knack for feral misdemeanours if unhinged. Tetsurou reckons provoking him wrongly would only prove to be taxing nonsense. He isn't stupid enough to humour avoidable complications.

Instead, he throws his hand in surrender -opting to dodge the possibility of a threat. Leisurely, he drinks the last of his smoke. They exit through his nose, blanketing him in a lukewarm climate.

"Don't need to pick a fight." He says, amiable. "The least you could do to thank me is to give me your name."

Tetsurou waits for the boy to resolve his inner turmoil. Whatever debate he has going on his mind proves Tetsurous right about his guarded disposition. Knit brows. Deep scowls. A bite on his trimmed nails then a flutter of the lashes until -

Finally, he faces Tetsurou in a resilient attempt to act proud. When he speaks, his words are strengthened with intrepid composure. Nothing of that dread a dying man would ache for.

"Tsukishima...Tsukishima Kei."

☾⇷☀⇸☽

Thursday begins as any usual day. Tetsurou rises from his bed and fails to fix the rumples of his sheets. He goes straight to the bathroom to brush his teeth and rinse off the veil of sweat on his skin. There's a commotion or two before he makes his way downstairs to give his mother a kiss on the cheek and his father a nod of farewell.

Thursday continues like any other day. Tetsurou ties his shoes right, buttons his shirt and rolls up the sleeves but then forgets his blazer. His mother berates him for it as she hands him his hefty bento. His father throws him a knowing glance just as Tetsurou pats his pockets right and traces the crisp thickness of money tucked deep near the seams. The last he does is a sprint to the exit, galloping across the listless street with his sleek black bike.

His typical morning ends with the realisation of a woefully-forgotten breakfast and Koutarou's request for the latest shounen manga. He's got a pile of it hidden beneath his bed. But today, just like any other, he fails to take one to school.

"You're real lousy, you know that?" Koutarou grumbles his first insult of the day and makes it his primary greeting.

Tetsurou licks a lollipop to keep the nicotine-filled urges at bay. "I'll get it tomorrow. Promise."

"You've told me that lie a hundred times, already." Koutarou huffs. He pulls a chair and makes a dragging screech as he positions himself opposite to the chair's backrest. "Get your shit together man, I've been dying to read chapter 59 for ages. I'm already way behind everyone else on the plot."

"Relax will ya?" Tetsurou props his elbows on the window sill. He cranes his neck, chin tilted upwards to gape at the sky. It's cloudless, with no heavy bearings of drizzle or glumness. There's not a hint of dusk or setting rays either. Just the tinge of azure and cotton specks.

Koutarou yanks him off his distracted bubble with a crass groan. "Oikawa's been spoiling the fun out of the series. Sooner or later, he'll spout the real ending and ruin it for me."

"Not like it's gonna kill you." Tetsurou snorts. He pockets his free arm and searches for a lollipop. When his fingers only meet crinkled banknotes, Koutarou tosses him an unopened one.

"Still can't quit?" Koutarou asks him. The evident humour in his volume is absent, changed by unerring concern.

Tetsurou senses guilt churn in his stomach. He averts his friend's gaze, casting fickle focus on the crowd below. "I'm working on it."

He swears it like an earnest promise. But the doubt that weighs on the hunches of their backs tell them straight that Tetsurou bears no truth in his dedication. Koutarou doesn't question him. His eyes say much of what he keeps unspoken. For now, Tetsurou is saved from lectures on health and welfare.

The boy sways his head from the side to side, interest stuck to the same horizon. Up and down. Left then right. The same old bark that withers by the sidelines. The same naughty couples that make out in the obscured shed below it. The same potted flowers and jabbering students parroting each other's gibberish. And -

"Ah," Tetsurou drops the honey-flavoured candy in his mouth. His jaw slackens in surprise, perception more vigilant than ever.

Koutarou perks up at the abrupt change of his demeanour. He retracts the grip of his elbows on the chair's headrest and looks at Tetsurou in fretful blinks. "What?"

"Tsukishima Kei," Tetsurou explains vaguely. He guides the other's attention with the tilt of his chin, directing them towards a platform just a few levels below their floor.

There are about a hundred of students frolicking in the open track field but none stands out as sorely as Tsukishima Kei does. Maybe it's the enviable height. Or the apparent disinterest. Perhaps it's got something to do with the dispassionate pace of his run - like he's openly unconcerned about a marathon worth double the usual grade. Tetsurou does not spare the boy from his free-spoken judgement. He concludes posthaste that Tsukishima is defiantly one stiff, unfriendly fella.

"Hey, isn't that Ushijima's ex?"

Tetsurou whips his head to clarify. "Come again?"

Koutarou stays oblivious to his confusion and repeats, "That's Ushijima's ex. Tsukishima, right? Heard they had a bad falling out. Whole first-years got involved in the hassle."

Eventually, what starts as typical proceeds to morph into newfound entertainment.

"Huh, didn't know he had it in him." Tetsurou mumbles playfully to the leaden taunt of ether. He spends the rest of lunch gawking at the unsuspecting boy.

☾⇷☀⇸☽

"I don't get it." Tetsurou has his head rested well atop the window's ledge. His cheeks doze lazily on his palm, unabashedly stalking the source of his recently discovered oddity. "How did two stuck-ups get together?"

"Probably because glasses-kun is a cute kid with skewed tastes in men." Tooru loafs by his side in light engrossment. There are pronounced creases on his forehead, quaintly aware of his friend's intentions. "How'd you even know the kid?"

Tetsurou arches his shoulders. For this morning, he chews lemon-scented gum. Gone are the fortunate days when he had a monopoly over the expanse of his desk. Now, Tooru has it occupied indefinitely and without care. He'd laid his claim over the sturdy surface, legs stretched handsomely as he provides only a scarce amount of free foundation for Tetsurou's limbs. Whatever verve he hasn't fuelled his chatty mouth with, he distributes to his skittish legs. It barely irks Tetsurou anymore. After all, he is much engaged in something else.

"Tetsu saw him last night at the bridge." Tetsurou is eerily taciturn today and so Koutarou makes it his mission to answer for him. The boy takes his usual spot at Tetsurou's front, comfortably accustomed to the creak of his chair and the support of an elevated column.

"You mean the suicide bridge?" Tooru drops a leg off the casement's shelf. Papery curtains billow at the peak of drafts, sweeping in to scrub his mien clean of its flippant character. What settles on his expression is a contorted scowl of unease. "Did he...?"

Tetsurou raises a hand to placate his impending disquiet. "Got there early before things turned sour."

"And now Tetsu's interested in him." Koutarou adds. He slants his head and navigates the view with absorbed fascination. "Doesn't look like he's interested in you though."

"Yeah right," Tetsurou juts his tongue out and teases a funny din out of his lips. "The brat didn't even bother to thank me for the effort."

Tooru hums, a bit more sympathetic. "So why the sudden curiosity? He's pretty and all, but you're usually not the type to go after snide blonds."

"Just wanted to get payback for my drenched uniform, is all."

"Doesn't seem like that to me." Koutarou quips.

Tetsurou grunts, affronted. He threads his fingers through his locks in annoyance, conscious of their shifty insinuations. "So I'm shocked he's Ushijima's ex - _big deal_. I already told you, I'm only doing this for the fun of it."

Koutarou and Tooru share a glance. They keep their lips shut but there's a suggestive twinkle in their grins.

"If you say so." They chorus with a scheming inflection.

Tetsurou knows now they are hardly convinced. "Shut up, nosy losers."

He ignores their pestering chirrups for the sole purpose of focusing his thoughts elsewhere. Tetsurou does not trouble himself with the reservations. He's already caught anyway. He pokes his head past the silver brims and braces against the scrutiny of his peers. Sneakily, gingerly, steadily - his eyes stalk the imprints of aureate footsteps. Distinct marks aptly escort every inch of Tsukishima's shadow. Tetsurou reviews each pair and counts five.

A noticeable spark of faded-red exuberance bounds near his left, nagging and prodding. It's followed closely by a mumbling gloom that feels more like an illustration of Tsukishima's dispirited replies. Hardly involved. Perfectly aloof. But there's a forthright genuineness to it that enjoys the company, absorbed in their youthful noises.

Tetsurou skims through the compacted circle and notices two more people on Tsukishima's right. One is a boy taller than rambling tangerine, armed with the most timorous of smiles and graced with the gentlest of giggles. The last and shortest of the colourful bunch is a girl much too demure to wreak havoc and more than sociable to be considered Tsukishima's sister.

Tetsurou sees Tsukishima say something to the chatty redhead. The shorter of the two squawks and returns him an ill-tempered reaction. He bellows something at the other, though Tsukishima only appears half-affected and mostly endeared by his words. From where he sat excluded from the conversation, Tetsurou guesses it might just be blether.

Redhead persists on ranting about his displeasure but the blond barely spares him a glance as walks ahead of him. Blueberry follows suit, apathetic of his peers' ruckus. Freckles and pigtails lag behind, flashing sheepish smiles as they try to console the boy.

_"Tsukki, you mean bastard!"_

The outraged call incites a chuckle out of Tetsurou. He savours the scene of jests and mirth in front him, immersed in the warmth of what must be long-cherished friendship. There's a question to be posed about a boy who seemed set on dying - surrounded by companions that appear just as obstinately doting. For now, however, Tetsurou solely delights in the torpor of Spring.

Just as he thinks himself free from the impish jeers of his own friends, Tetsurou unluckily gets caught by Tsukishima's keen senses. The boy's quick intuition leads him straight to where Tetsurou unwisely loiters on his chair like a mindless halfwit. It feels more like a deliberate pull than a fluke. Like instincts drawing Tsukishima to Tetsurou and Tetsurou to Tsukishima.

In no more than a second's contemplation, he ducks away from the younger's view. There's a clamour as he crouches behind the protection of cream-coloured walls. The rapid rush of blood jostles his heart, pumping right where the rhythm augments. Whatever sort of magic is at work surely has it out for Tetsurou.

 _Tsukki,_ Tetsurou practices in his mind. Undeniably, it's got a nice ring to it.

"Careful, lover boy." Tooru intrudes his musings with a buzzing twitter. "Cupid's just around the corner."

Friday is not quite like Thursday. Spring is near its peak. Tetsurou feels like he's rising to his too.

☾⇷☀⇸☽

The after hours of school, for Tetsurou at least, is a blur of palavers and manic silhouettes. Entertainment is scant and the bouts of intrigue from them is sporadic at best. Whatever enjoyment had been there to pervade the gaping spaces of halls and swamped classroom now wither away, empty to the people that fritter until the peek of dusk.

Tetsurou is one of the very few that aren't too thrilled about dismissals. He finds them the end of play, the defining foe of all good things for the zestful youth. Though, Tetsurou holds no grievous animosity towards it as much Tooru insists he does. After all, class dismissals mark the start of adults' fun too. The once drained teachers, energized by some miraculous switch of personality, get to loosen up for an evening free of troublesome punks. Even the uninterested students, who find greater motivation outside school perimeters, are inclined to their own versions of adventure.

To Tetsurou, the bustling homerooms, lively auditorium, astir cafeteria and the not-so-clandestine rooftops that exude vigour more restless than the glaring sun - all serve as his domain of recreation. Beyond its bourns is a groundless, banal town too dormant to brew itself something new. Much like a rigid routine, scarcely any sort of rarities occur, they are seldom a source of unbridled tomfoolery.

But on the inside -

"What made you so sure that I'd be here."

\- things are much more flamboyant in their surprises.

Tetsurou flicks his eyes towards the opened doors. His distraction for the week greets him in a bristling act of defiance. Bold locks, squinted eyes and sickly legs - strides askance as he marches to where Tetsurou lazes smilingly on his chair.

"I knew you wouldn't make someone wait for you." He extends his legs forward and leans them atop Koutarou's unused desk. His bents elbows cradle the back of his head, unbothered by the disruptive thuds of Tsukishima's footsteps.

Within seconds, a letter is slammed on his table. Tetsurou spares it a glimpse and yawns. "You act all snotty but you're actually polite, Tsukki."

"Don't call me that." Tsukishima hisses. "When did you even get the time to put this letter in my locker?"

"Wasn't that hard." Tetsurou answers calmly. All he needed to do was goad a handful of giddy first-years into talking and the entire arrangement is as good as done. "Had to pull in some favours but it worked out in the end."

"How fluky of you, Kuroo-san." Comes a monotonous reply.

Dark hazel scans the boy from head to toe. Grinning, Tetsurou props his elbow against the wooden margin of his desk. For a comely effect, he leans a chin atop the cup of his palm. "Worked out well in the end, didn't it?"

The boy only sharpens his gaze. "What do you want?"

Tetsurou stirs at the sight of tight lines on his face. His hair is dishevelled, the shape of his glower more prominent under the shine of setting lights. The deadpan, spectral sheen of his complexion bears a patina of absolute disengagement to everything. One quick acknowledgement of that has Tetsurou concluding he isn't the same agreeable teenager that he was yesterday.

"Sit." Tetsurou instructs. He makes it so that his voice is cordial. Any hints of pranks and larks are erased apace to allay the other's suspicions.

Tsukishima is not about to give him the advantage, however. He's immensely incredulous of him. "Not until you give me a good reason."

"You think talking about the bridge will suffice?"

"I told you that's none of your concerns."

"Attempted suicide," Tetsurou says loud and clear. The hush of his words resounds throughout every bend and every nook of the darkening ceilings. When he reclines on his seat, hands tucked in his pockets, the quiet thickens. "As your dear senpai, I think that's plenty of my concerns."

"What do you want from me."

"I'll tell you once you're settled down, Tsukki."

There is a bleak instance of stiff deliberation before Tsukishima sags. He drops himself on the vacant seat, poise calculating. He's stationed just across Tetsurou, the boy having prepared in advance to free space for his company. At the sight of his compliance, Tetsurou bites down a triumphant smile. He blinks in nimble speed, fists itching to pump the air and celebrate another victory.

"So?"

A pause is given for Tsukishima to get accustomed to his chair. Tetsurou notices he is without a bag or a heavy load of important errands. Perchance, the younger had come to his invitation out of pure and incautious curiosity.

"Speak up, Kuroo-san. I have other businesses to attend to."

Tetsurou quirks a brow. "Like jumping into the river?"

The tone of his voice must have been grating - as not a second after, Tsukishima is already preparing his leave. Tetsurou swiftly hampers his movement with a firm grip on his elbow. There's little muscle to grasp on, as though the boy's limbs are moulded from brittle bones and bloodless veins.

"Thirty minutes." Tetsurou begins. The boy takes a gander at his eyes then at his arm. "For every day of the week, you have to accompany for thirty minutes."

A glint of jaundice brightens Tsukishima's shadowed orbs. "You really think I'd agree to that?"

"You tell me," Tetsurou poses. "It's either this or an hourly session with that drunkard of a counsellor."

The blond yanks his arm free from the clutch and blatantly sneers at him. "Are you threatening me?"

"I'm not." Tetsurou denies with raised hands. "I'm just giving you choices. It's all up to you, Tsukki."

The dismal atmosphere lightens its strain. Tsukishima dallies in his thoughts, perhaps to weigh the prospects of _positives_ and _negatives_ \- but eventually, he arrives at a decision. And his decision, though wanted, feels a lot like a fickle commitment. Regardless of the indubitable ambivalence hidden beneath it, Tetsurou is simply grateful for whatever tinge of sincerity Tsukishima chose to take from him.

"Let's start with reading." He offers to the stillness. In one quick motion, Tetsurou has his desk brimming with unopened novels. "They're some of my favourites. I figured for our first meeting, I'd have us piss on shitty plotlines and fawn over the great ones."

His cheerful admission gains him a disapproving regard. Tsukishima picks up a book, uncaring of its title. "You had this all prepared from the start, didn't you? What would you have done if I hadn't come?"

Tetsurou ponders on it, pensive. "Never really thought about it. I just knew sooner or later you'd cave in. All I had to do was wait."

"You're creepy." The boy says as he flips through the pages of mousy tan. His pick is an older opus titled The Great Lore. It reeks of expensive ink and old leather - a treasured valuable of Tetsurou's father.

"That's a lucky pick." Tetsurou comments. He observes the thin fingers as they hover over the first paragraph, provided with an introduction Tetsurou can recite by heart. "Stories about heroes are always the best. Makes you think you could become one yourself."

"Heroes don't exist, Kuroo-san." The boy tells him with a surly accent, not once removing his focus from the printed letters. "There are only delusional people."

Tetsurou tips his head closer to the other side of the table. "Someone pissed you off when you were younger?" When he's met with muted a grumble, he persists. "Did they hurt you? Lie to you? Promised to make things better but only made it worse?"

"What do you know." Tsukishima turns to the next page and catches the slip of his glasses.

The older counts his unclear answer as a tentative _yes_. "So I'm right."

"And if you are?" Tsukishima poses, noncommital. "Are you going to preach about them now? Convince me that heroes are cool?"

"Nothing like that." _Well, sort of like that._

Though oblivious to his musings, Tsukishima presumes it right. "You're the type to like saving people, aren't you?"

This time, it is Tetsurou who feels the scrutiny pinned on him.

"I heard some rumours about you, Kuroo-san. You like going around the streets and beating up bullies?"

"Sometimes." Tetsurou does not deny.

"That part of the hero work too?"

"Sort of." Tetsurou fails to refute.

Tsukishima takes his reply as is and hums out a lulling tune of recognition. "And now you plan on saving me."

The boy looks at Tetsurou as if he has him read inside and out. And perhaps he does. The intensity of his inferences and the effortless way he conjectures them makes for one hell of an assumption. Tetsurou would be damned to suppose them as faulty.

"You're a sharp kid." As he suspected. Tetsurou abandons all plans of contradicting, out of causes to do otherwise.

"I'm not your case study, Kuroo-san. Some people don't need your charity." Tsukishima asserts. He regards the other with shrewd judgment, perhaps having already perceived him as a vain, self-regarding boy labelled plainly by his unserious altruism. "30 minutes is over. Have a good evening."

Tetsurou knows there is a definite 5 minutes left to their agreement. He lets the detail unmentioned and tacitly watches as Tsukishima takes his leave - not a wave of farewell or gesture of his thanks.

For once, Tetsurou feels called out.

☾⇷☀⇸☽

"Hey Kou, I've been wondering..."

"Hm?"

"You think I'd make a good hero?"

Koutarou breathes out a hearty chuckle. "I think you'd make a pretty horrible superman."

"You think so?"

"I _know_ so."

Tetsurou stares at his palm. He inspects every fold and furrow. "Wanna hear something funny?"

The boy gives him a cursory browse, lips stained with a strawberry popsicle. "What."

"Someone said the same thing to me yesterday."

☾⇷☀⇸☽

"Hey Tsukki, want me to read your palms?" He offers the proposition to him a week after much need exchanges. They had been civil for most of it. And Tetsurou can proudly say there are gradual improvements in their conversations.

They've settled the matters. The ill-tempered ribbing, the caustic ripostes and even the acrid nature of their discussions. Not too curt but not too prolonged. Just the right ambience for an amicable truce.

Tetsurou asks most of what he wants to ask. Tsukishima shares better than lacklustre replies and spiritless sarcasm. The talks are less evasive, less like a breach of peace and more like friendly probing. Tetsurou abstains from harebrained remarks and inadvertent chaffs. Tsukishima refrains from causeless debates and excessive inimicality.

They stray far from subjects not worth discussing in the field of their interests. Though there are landmines not too overtly noticeable, Tetsurou ascertains that he has only come close to stepping on one. He never goes beyond to make incessant provocations, and Tsukishima is yet to do the same. There is still discontent, sometimes even exasperation - but nothing happens to the extremes. Tetsurou is unduly proud of the progress they've made and the lack of punches thrown.

All that's left to unearth is buried deep underground, waiting to be mined when the locks are finally unclasped. There are crumbs embedded in the open, easier to pick apart and make a translation of. And to read them is to read a palm, the same way a palm-reader would to their precise complexities and unvarnished truth.

When one needs to learn about a person, they rely on the honesty of their hands - or so his grandfather advises. The whole thing is pseudoscience but Tetsurou's never been one to strictly abide by the naysayer's norms. He's out to try just for the hell of it.

"I didn't know you were into that." Of the many things he predicts Tsukishima to insult him with, he goes with the least derisive. Tetsurou can't say if he's expected to be happy about that.

"I'm into a lot of things." The boy's eyes flicker expressively.

Tsukishima blinks at him, unimpressed. The novel in his hand is much thinner than before. Tetsurou notes the bold title slapped across it and smiles to himself. _Moonlit_ , also a cherished novella of his. He remembers distinctly how his father had sat him on his lap, imitating silly voices and mispronouncing words just to test Tetsurou if he had half the interest in mind to correct his risible narration.

"That book," Tetsurou points with his chin. "It crafts a re-telling of the supposed myth of palm reading."

Tsukishima slightly jerks in his place as if revived. "It does?"

The older spots the tiny flare of enthusiasm in Tsukishima's face. He lets out a chuckle, perceptive of the matters that easily captivate him. "History says any marks on the palm signal a pact with the devil. In the novel, it's told more differently."

A raise of an eyebrow. Then, "How so?"

Cautiously, Tetsurou brings his palm out. He tips it upward for Tsukishima to inspect. There are callouses on his fingers, marked by days of hard work in his mother's humble flower garden. Steadily, he keeps his palm at close length. Tsukishima furrows his brows at it before laying his own on the security of its clasp. And though he is sceptical of the purpose, he waits for Tetsurou's explanation.

"This is Death," Tetsurou caresses a line. He holds Tsukishima's palm with the utmost care, tracing his thumbs only on the ridges and lines that stand out. "And below is Love."

The blond huffs in anticipation but keeps himself concentrated on the strokes. "Is this going to be a tale of tragic romance?"

"Kind of." Tetsurou grins. With his short, pristine nails, he brushes on a long curve. "Before Death was punished to eternal damnation, he held hands with his lover. He promised, that in the next lifetime to come, even when he would not be around to witness it, Love would have a memory of him ingrained in their body."

He trails a feathery graze on the boy's ring finger, then to the fading wrinkles above and last, on the pasty tips and cleanly trimmed nails. He scrapes a blue vein, skin kissing skin, hollows on hollows. Then he caresses the important lines that make up his soul - heart, fate, sun and the ever uncertain life -

"He wrote a love letter of sort... a record of their memories, to keep Love reminded of them and the promises he made."

At last, Tetsurou links their fingers. Tsukishima does not startle from his gesture. He looks to be engrossed by it, instinctively basking in the connection, feeling the press of toughened seams and bumps of old wounds. They gawk at their tangled hands, how they fit despite their sizes, so wonderfully tethered to each other as if bound to an irrefutable pact.

"A piece of their souls are inscribed in these paper-thin lines. Death in Love. Love in Death. They say soulmates can find their pair if they just feel through the palms. Just as Death and Love did."

Tetsurou revels in the electrifying attraction and muses, unblushing, how it feels a lot like trust, planted still in the haven of his heart - and a lot like spring, patiently waiting for its bloom into something more. Something grander than the infinitude of the sky. Something bigger than the infinitesimal, barely-there space betwixt their palms. Something _them_.

"Kuroo-san." Tsukishima speaks to the placid air, cutting it loose from its torrid fetters. "Please let go of my hand."

Tetsurou stares at him, stupefied.

"S-sorry." He croaks, quick to remove his grip on the other. Furtively, he rues the loss of bond.

The school signals its last bell of the day. For the rest of the late afternoon, they study their books upside down - palms marked with the scorch of budding affection.

☾⇷☀⇸☽

** SUMMER **

☂

☾⇷☀⇸☽

"I want to go to the museum."

Surprisingly, it's Tsukishima who proposes to venture outside. Tetsurou lasts a measly two minutes before delivering a wisecrack.

"Are you asking me out on a date?"

The boy considers him with unflinching indifference. "I only date fun guys."

Tetsurou, not one to withhold a jab back, simpers at his easy retort. "Was Ushijima an exception?"

"He wasn't anything." Tsukishima supplies, unfazed. There is no book or device in his hands. Only the crisp leaf of a personal journal occupies his musings. If it were not for the morsel of thought he puts into his scribbling, Tetsurou would have thought him unreachable.

"So what was he to you?" The older peers through the crinkle of his magazine. There is a glimpse of red blots at the far edge of Tsukishima's notebook. When Tetsurou angles his head just right, he espies a messy sketch of him looking over the brink of ink-stained panes. The boy loves to draw. Tetsurou entrenches the novel detail in mind.

"Just a passerby." Tsukishima provides after a minute of tranquillity. Tetsurou studies him and ruminates more carefully on his next words.

"You call all your ex-lovers that?"

"I call everyone that." The boy responds, no spite or agitation. His tone lacks remorse. Almost as if Tsukishima has had the sentiment for a long time.

Tetsurou finds the idea unsettling. "Sounds lonely."

"We're all lonely by default, Kuroo-san. Sooner or later, I'm going to be a passerby in your life too. Just like you'll be to me."

"And if I stay?" Tetsurou poses. His question earns him a stare, much longer than the ones Tsukishima casts on humdrum days.

Tsukishima's answer is delayed. A tincture of vacillation resides behind his pursed lips, ready to slip up any sliver of veracity. He's at loss for a sound argument. Anything to counter the other's suggestion is deterred by his own scruples.

"You could try." So he says. Tetsurou believes there is lingering hope to be found - trammelled thoroughly by the many layers of his cynicism.

"I'll take that as an invitation." Tetsurou returns. And if he beams too brightly for something as minuscule as the chances of his success, Tsukishima does not deride him for it. Absently, he ponders if the boy is pleased with his reply.

He's proven right when, not a second later, the boy presents him with an unlikely chance. "Come with me to the museum and we'll see."

Tetsurou mentally scarfs down on the opportunity like a madman unconfined.

☾⇷☀⇸☽

The museum they go to is a long distance away from the campus. Mostly concealed, hardly visible and narrowly known. The architecture bellows a hidden world alienated from the idiosyncrasies outside it. Those that live ostentatiously and those that savour habitual carouses are stuck in the tedious yonder - sadly to never encounter the uncanny magic of such a modest spectacle.

Though the edifice flagrantly exposes a tad too much of its own attrition and even lacks anything newer than the run-of-the-mill affairs - it vaunts of something less barren. Just a chaste glimpse at the decorous egress and polished tenor speaks with lavish colours - so unabashedly profuse that the modern pavilions of Tetsurou's wealthy neighbourhood pitifully pale in comparison.

"How did you even know about this place?" Tetsurou can't help but think aloud.

They have treaded past enough hallways, now onto the next deserted section that teems with rustic artefacts and misprized paintings. Upon further exploration, Tetsurou conceives at length that they may be the only guests in the building. With how sorely deprived the place is of visitors, Tetsurou very well surmises they're the first to come in a long while.

"I used to come here with my brother." Tsukishima's mumble is low and mim. He levels his volume to the resonant serenity of the setting. With his dainty gait, he glues himself to the array of artworks fastened to the wall. Some are dark, some light and others an abstruse mix of both.

Tetsurou sticks close to the sidelines and mimics the way he fumbles with his hands. They marvel at the paintings together, spellbound by the slew of shades and burst of aberrant tints. Now and then, Tetsurou sneaks a glance at Tsukishima. In between the falter of their synced movements and unuttered trances is an instance purposefully reserved for adoring flatteries. Distractedly, Tetsurou thinks of what the boy might say if he tells him he is just as much of an undervalued attraction as the canvases he is bewitched by. The longer he wallows in the idea, the faster his resolve thins and wavers.

Perhaps, he can keep _this_ bit of secret to himself.

"Does your brother like to paint?"

Their steps halt right before an alcove. It's splayed with a picturesque image, smudged on the ambits and framed by sylvan stems. In the background is a scenic mix of ash and grey. With vivid quaintness spread across the expanse of a flat surrounding, Tetusurou's sight is easily guided to the pith of the craft. The focal subject is a striking portrayal of an angel - light-toned complexion caught in the coy arch of shoulders, flaxen strands led astray by artificial gusts of rain and cherry lips glossed over with fine varnish - pursed to an enthralling pout that can inveigle any man in existence.

Tetsurou stalls his glance and slowly makes out the model of the painting. "Is that...?"

"Firefly. Or...Kei." Tsukishima reads the title for him, eyes ablaze under the penumbra of the vaulted cavities. Just from that, Tetsurou understands he's frittered most of his times at this particular region of the structure. A mark of melancholy stains the delicate features of his face, flawlessly imitated by the lifelike copy of himself aglow before them. "My brother painted it for an art competition. It didn't win him anything but it earned him enough to buy himself newer materials."

Tetsurou gapes at the piece. It's beautiful, unfairly so. And it certainly is underserving of the disinterest. Something of unparalleled value far-exceeding the trite and the uninspired should be nurtured in the millions of eyes that ought to appraise it. He finds it an injustice that the masterpiece is displaced from greater endorsement.

"Oh," The older coughs out a laboured sigh. He tugs his sleeves straight then brings his fists back inside the snug pockets of his jeans. "Do you paint too?"

"Nii-san used to teach me." Tsukishima idles with the zipper of his bomber jacket. The clothing is a sublime blend of coarse silver and pastel pink. He wears sleeveless white under it, matched by yellow shorts and ashen shoes. His outfit is ideally styled to welcome summer heat. "And you?"

Tetsurou shakes his head. "I'm unfortunately not as blessed in the ways of arts, but... I used to play the guitar."

Buried recollections of midnight practices and decaying strings flood through the forefront of his mind. He reminisces, in that slight instant of indulgence, how devotedly he would learn the musical sheets and attune the strum of his fingers to every note. Again and again, he'd let his fingers flick and pluck, bruised and chafed if it meant playing on the stage and singing about that one distinct memory where he had conjured melodies of his own. He'd written thousands of lyrics just to go along with its harmony.

But then one day, he'd simply grown tired. The breaks he took prolonged. The tunes he hummed dithered. And whatever effort he put into getting back to it, deteriorated to be replaced by a tirade of empty assurances and _will-do's_. Until, he was with no more impassioned blaze, imagined successes or searing hope. By the time Tetsurou had forced every fibre of his potential and drained what could be drained from them, he'd already found himself exhausted. Talentless. Skill-less. Less of everything he had worked hard to attain. Less of everything he defined his whole purpose with.

"Used to?" Tsukishima notices the lapse in his breathing.

"I couldn't keep up." Tetsurou admits. "Hated how it spelt out my mediocrity. It's more an issue with my flashy ego than anything if we're being honest here."

Tsukishima snorts blankly at his attempt to jape. A calm pervades the strung-out drafts. Two insecure umbras resile under the perusal of the all-knowing vistas.

Not a minute later, Tsukishima begins to speak. "My brother felt the same." His inflection is dolorous, troubled by years of suppressed vulnerability. "He drove himself to the brink - exhausted every part of himself."

"And what did it cost him?" 

"Borken ribs." Tsukishima lowers his gaze. "Life support."

The arid breath of spring curses the tension. Tsukishima sighs, relieved from the torment of his secrets.

"They say passion breaks the best of people." Tetsurou offers out of sympathy. "Some things just suddenly feel like they're not worth it anymore."

"Then I guess I just wasn't enough." The boy mutters, unsteady.

A stagnant tension breaks the air. Tsukishima stares at him and he stares back. Tetsurou sees the shake of unclenched fists and secures one in the embrace of his hand. They leave, casting aside the rest of their unshared stories.

☾⇷☀⇸☽

They buy themselves ice cream after a reticent, dismal walk to the exit. Any mentions of angst and woes are eschewed. However, the possibility of discussing it again is not entirely jilted. Tetsurou knows there is much to unpack and he knows a resolution is afoot. But today is not the day for the crestfallen grievers. And if there is space to lament of something, they wisely agree on the trivial and the uncomplicated.

After the ice cream is idle talks. Discourse about the weather, disagreements about the colours, puns about the cats and dogs, the shoes they wear and the sand in their feet as they trudge on dewy shores. There is ribbing and light shoving. They prate like longtime friends in the first hour of their much-awaited reunion. Other names unfamiliar to the other are mentioned in between breathless gasps and unembarrassed cackles. Tsukishima retells his accounts of Hinata and Kageyama's absurd antics, how he laughed too hard at their clumsy errors that Yamaguchi and Yachi had to remind him of proper breathing.

Tetsurou adds to the unceasing chronicles of silliness by sharing encounters of his own. He tells the other about Tooru's eccentric screw-ups and Koutarou's unorthodox way of eating cereal. He brings up other names - his cool and standoffish kouhai, Keiji and introverted, self-effacing childhood friend, Kenma. He even tells him about his raucous homeroom. Yaku, the volatile class secretary. Terushima, his partner in stewing chaotic fun. Sawamura the responsible class president and Sugawara the laidback seatmate. Even Iwaizumi, the tormented recipient of Tooru's stunts and Tetsurou's nonstop wisecracks.

There is no rest in between their chatters, airways comically strangled. For a slim, uninterrupted while, Tetsurou thinks there wouldn't be an end to it.

"Kuroo-san, it's already an hour."

\- that is until Tsukishima has taken it upon himself to remind them of their fixed limitation.

Tetsurou peers down at his wrist then up to the horizons where the cascading veil of teal converges toward the unbounded sea. He looks to be in deep meditation, faced with the reality of his perceptible insignificance to the world. They are a limited existence - both he and Tsukishima. And Tetsurou knows nothing can be done to challenge it.

"Hey, Tsukki...wanna go for a ride and chase the sunset?" His lips work before his mind does. Tetsurou stays rooted to his place by the parapet.

They have journeyed enough of the coast before roving to a worn, abandoned bridge. It's narrow and battered, embellished by an overspill of filmy vines and viridescent moss. The only crowd that amble about its rickety trail now stands face to face each other. A stark glister of jet black waits by the end of the balustrades. All that is needed is Tsukishima's reply.

"Do I get to drive?"

Tetsurou laughs, bright and airy. The cry of seagulls jingle in the winds. From a distance, they hear the waves crash against the calm.

"Come with me and we'll see." He teases. Tsukishima scrunches his nose in protest. The frown he gives Tetsurou makes the older reconsider all safety precautions of driving. But as a responsible senpai, he knows Tsukishima will not stand a chance against him.

"Hold on tight, Tsukki." He throws him a spare helmet once they reach past the last of the path. Grinning briefly, Tetsurou hops over his bike with practised ease. He casts a hasty peek behind his shoulders, posing coolly as he's perched on the rider's seat.

Tsukishima obliges grudgingly. He takes his spot behind the other, not once anxious about winding his arms around the older's waist. His elbows are thin, wrists the half of Tetsurou's and complexion one shade lighter. When he leans close, muscles relaxed, his touch becomes feverish. It's the first Tetsurou has ever sensed familiarity from him. He doesn't flinch or recoil. He shows no hints of evading contact. There's less apathy in the way he regards Tetsurou.

 _Comfortable_. He's comfortable with Tetsurou. The realisation kindles an ecstatic feeling in his chest. They make his heart throb and giddy, sprouting newer emotions out of the figment of something Tetsurou is yet to name.

His engines roar and he repeats himself, "Hold on to me."

Somehow, the words are uttered with a heavier weight.

Tsukishima tightens his grip and does as he always does with everything. With the flow. Barely against the currents.

"I will." The mellow voice echoes like a wind fleeing.

They drive towards an unwinding pavement, led by the strings of a setting sun.

It's barely the end of Spring. There is still an unfinished pile of schoolwork on Tetsurou's desk. The pressure of academics and untravelled fun is sure to revile in a heap of repercussions. But today, with Tsukishima, Tetsurou feels like he's diving headfirst into the edge of Summer.

The sun sets. A new dawn arises.

☾⇷☀⇸☽

"Are you guys dating now?"

The question comes out of nowhere that it nearly sends Tetsurou into a frenzy. He whips his head to meet Tooru's hard gaze on him, slowly stumbling out of the rocking pace of his chair.

"What are you talking about?" He feigns ignorance. It's the only way he can find himself eluding Tooru's sly tricks. Tetsurou has seen the boy use his smooth-talking dexterity to coerce bullies into giving back stolen money - and he would hate to ever be on the receiving end of it.

"Come on Tetsu," Koutarou appears behind him. This time, he's short of sweets or good distraction. Already, Tetsurou assumes they will gang up on him. "Don't play dumb. You know what we want to know."

"Nope. Not really." Still, Tetsurou pushes his luck. If his endeavours ever meet a disgraceful failure, he'll just have to excuse himself before they can cajole him any further.

Tooru clicks his tongue, he situates himself across the other. The backrest is pushed against his chest. He positions his legs on each side, his forearms flexing from years worth of throwing punches, running marathons and beating up delinquents. "Pretty blondie. Museum visits. Romantic walks and sky-gazing. Any of those ring a bell to you?"

Tetsurou frowns. "Where'd you hear that from?"

"Found out about it from my cute kouhai." Tooru offers a crafty smirk.

Koutarou snorts, slumping his weight on Tetsurou's back. "More like threatened the poor kid. You can be pretty mean sometimes, Tooru."

"I'm not." Tooru raises his arms. He reclines on the desk behind him, palms flat on his nape as he slouches on its edge. "I bought him milk afterwards. But enough about that. Tobio-chan said you had lots of fun. Was the date good?"

"It wasn't a date." Tetsurou grunts at the heaviness of Koutarou's elbows. They press on the lax slopes of his shoulders but he doesn't stave off from the weight. "Tsukki just wanted new scenery so we decided to go outside. We had to use 3-days worth of 30 minute-sessions just for a bike ride."

Koutarou lets out a noise of disbelief. "I still don't get it. Why are you so hellbent on meeting up with the kid if you have no plans of dating him."

"Can't a guy just make more friends?"

"Nothing wrong with that." Koutarou sighs, tentative. "Just...the way you try to treat him feels, I don't know...flirtatious?"

"I do that with you sometimes but you never question me for it."

"That's because we know you don't mean it that way." Tooru explains. "Look, we're only asking because we want to be happy for you. It's not like we plan to get in the way of your...lovey-dovey charades."

"And I'm telling you, we're not like that." Tetsurou says it with a facile conviction that he stuns even himself into malaise. A hint of bitter betrayal lies close at the tip of his tongue. It all but flusters his resolution.

"Then you better make sure your intentions are clear." Tooru cautions. "You're more than aware of how fickle hope can be. Don't plant one if you're not ready to commit."

" _Ooohhh_ ," Koutarou cheers in a drawled out croon. He claps his hand and displays Tooru a proud thumb. "Serious Oikawa Tooru strikes again! A win for the pretty boy's club!"

Tooru encourages his praises, preening himself on a newly gained recognition. The frigid atmosphere slackens when Koutarou demands his compliments be returned. And from there, the spry quips and frisky banters take precedence.

Tetsurou is mildly engaged for the rest of their ramblings. Discreetly, he mulls over Tooru's words. He makes a show of playing unaffected, but the restless upset eventually settles in his mind. What did Tsukki mean to him? What did he want Tsukki to mean? Tetsurou broods over the questions with brain cogs stuck to a tiresome spiral and a heart chanting of heartsick reveries.

What did Tetsurou want from Tsukki? Why did he put effort into his deeds? Was it all just done on a whim? Had he been basing his gestures on the caprices of romance? Romance? Should he even call it that?

Rather, should he even call it _love_?

Whatever it is, Tetsurou has to find out for himself.

☾⇷☀⇸☽

"How do you know if it's love?"

Tetsurou opens himself to an unasked question one strange evening. It's a rarity that not many would expect the boy to pose. People scan him briefly and immediately assume he has a definitive answer for it. _A romance sage of the youth_ , they praise. In truth, he's only ever been with three girls and none have lasted long to spur fervour in his lungs and drive him senseless.

His mother makes a sound testament of that notion when she carelessly drops her cherished cup on the lustrous steel border of their sink. The stunned clamour of her blunder echoes a sonorous announcement to the open kitchen. She's more than adapted to surprises in her family (given the esteemed repute of her husband's job), but there are still revelations so outlandish to her she cannot even begin about how to readily process them. Apparently, a son in love is an anomalous occurrence in the household - more so than the murdered corpses father works with.

"W-what brought this on?" Mother stammers. The clack of her heels augments as she advances towards Tetsurou. Her thin stilettos are yet to be discarded, ignored for a fraction of balanced levity and urgent dialogue. "Is my boy finally in love?! Hm? Are they good? Do they treat you well?"

"Not like that, Ma." Tetsurou denies calmly. He dodges the woman's piercing jabs and stoops away from the backrest. "I was just curious."

"Well," Mother wipes her hand on the flower patterns of her pleated blouse. "If you want to know what love is, you have to be willing to try it yourself."

"Shouldn't I at least have something to compare it to?" Tetsurou crinkles his forehead. He lays his head flat against the table, scowling at the ambiguity of his mother's opinion. "Any standard terms or definitions?"

"Love is different for everybody, Tetsu." Mother says, warm and dreamy. She ruffles Tetsurou's hair, unwinding the locks that twined and twisted at the centre of his nape. "You have to make your own version. It would be a boring world if we're all attached to one interpretation of it."

"You make it sound so easy, Ma."

"And you overcomplicate it too much, kiddo. Love's love. It's just the way it is."

The boy lets out an unconvinced hum. He scratches a nail on the wooden surface and hearkens to the beat that sculpts itself in its maroon lacquer. Tetsurou dwells on his mother's words and silently criticises the angles of their frank simplicity. He'd prepared himself for a rather profound ideology of love, dedicated to construing its established complexities and intricate affinities. It's a great disappointment that those philosophical expectations are promptly contested by his mother's lack of embellishments.

"Believe me, Tetsu. You'll know it when you feel it."

He gives her the benefit of the doubt and notes the thought in mind. Once dinner ends, with father on the dishwashing duties and mother on take-out payment, Tetsurou retires early for bed.

Except he never really does send himself to sleep. He squirms under the eiderdowns of his bed, sharply awake to accompany a slumberless night. The moon glowers at him to drop a lid and burrow in the heat of his blankets. But he deprives himself of any comfort. Tetsurou instead plagues his mind with his havering, tossing and turning and teetering until the bribe of his pending abstractions leads him straight to the blocked compartment of his closet.

The guitar he'd stowed away years ago greets him the same as it did the first time Tetsurou had caught sight of it. He reaches for the top and yanks off the dusty mantle draped over the body. Though bristly from prolonged disuse, the strings still sing to him in kind welcome.

Tetsurou takes a pause and thinks about everything. He feels a tingle stab at his heart as he remembers the days he would place the guitar at arm's length, always the first and last in to enter his mind. Nostalgia probes at his stomach, filling it with suspense until he picks up the guitar and plays an arrangement of notes.

The early melody he makes - he relives a hope settled deep in the abyss of his being. Golden wisps travel in his voice, written in the rhapsody he sings.

Finally, at evenfall, Tetsurou sees the stars align.

☾⇷☀⇸☽

"Hazel."

Tetsurou pokes his head out of the thin sheets of his crumpled magazine. He looks at Tsukishima, agog. "Hazel?"

"My favourite colour."

Deep furrows mark the older's forehead. "I thought you said it was yellow."

"It changes." Tsukishima shrugs. "Sometimes it's blue, grey or-"

"Hazel." Tetsurou continues for him. "Why hazel?"

Tsukishima's eyes linger on his face. A minute is squandered by his hushful gawking. Then, with a noiseless smile too small to emanate radiance, Tsukishima says, "It's fun. I like it being around me."

Tetsurou laughs at that, privy to his cryptic meanings.

☾⇷☀⇸☽

** AUTUMN **

☘

"Have you ever fallen in love?"

Tsukishima does not deter his scrawling. "Almost."

Tetsurou twitches at his honest response. "Almost?"

A whiff of autumn rises in the air, early in its arrival and freshly decorated by the auburn dangling around it. There is no fall to paint the garden russet. The trails of evergreen remain deluged by a flood of drooping pink sakura. Still, Tetsurou discerns the fleeting seasons in their sprightly wake. Yet, with Tsukishima, that sort of illusory delirium is gladly enkindled.

"What's this about now, Kuroo-san?" The boy scrapes lead on roughened paper. To and fro, his pencil ricochet from margin to margin.

Tetsurou's stay glued to the empty stretch of his writing table. He hides the half of his chin behind folded arms, the whole of him loafing about to misspend an aimless time. "Was that _'almost'_ Ushijima?"

There's a drip of acid as Tetsurou mentions the name. He senses the pinch of envy tinker with his breathing. Agitation sits close at the tip of his zipped lips as he anticipates Tsukishima's answer.

"It's him, isn't it?"

"Not him." Tsukishima deadens his stare. A layer of his sketching pad is scoured clean by the leaden tip of his pencil. He has a willful ignorance that desires more than anything to steer clear of the question. Tetsurou thinks he would as lief let the topic pass as face the ramifications not worth conferring about. But in the end, Tsukishima swerves off the chary path and retorts, plain and distinct, "Painting. The day my brother taught me how to use a brush, I was instantly hooked."

Tetsurou picks up on the heartfelt softness of his timbre and smiles fain. "Same as me then." He says, then he adds no less avid, "Music's my first love. The first time I heard my father play the guitar, I asked him to teach me. We stayed up all night going through the basics."

"Oh," That seemed to be a foreign detail for Tsukishima. The boy's eyes are elsewhere but Tetsurou's, often on the paper or the bumps of his knuckles. Tetsurou is sufficiently sharp to discern his expressions of engagement. "Are you playing again?"

"Kinda." He says with a deliberate lilt. "Kou said they'd hold a talent show for the school festival. I thought I might give it a try."

"That's good." The glaze of Tsukishima's orbs scintillate. Tetsurou detects the pleasing rays of his close-lipped smile.

"Will you come?" He asks it before any consultations with his rational mind. Tetsurou is impatient and he does not need pointless debates.

Tsukishima parts his lips. "What?"

"I want you to watch me." Tetsurou restates, expectant. "Will you?"

The boy attempts a cocksure grin. Tetsurou reads it as jocular. Everything about him is familiar now - his feathery lashes, swaying curls and fine brows. If you were to blind Tetsurou and ask him about the slope of his nose, the slant of his lids and the rush of blood to his face when he laughs unfettered - Tetsurou can render a lucent imitation of him. He would make it faithful to the most specific features of Tsukishima.

"Only if you play well, Kuroo."

"Stingy as always, Tsukki."

They share a snicker until the clouds depart for a newfangled radiance.

☾⇷☀⇸☽  
  


"Kuroo Tetsurou."

Tetsurou stops in his tracks and returns the call unfazed. He meets Ushijima's eyes and smirks aslant. "Never thought I'd hear my name called like that."

"I wanted to talk to you about Kei." Ushijima pronounces the name monotonously that Tetsurou cannot help but grimace. The boy's stature is composed, tall and proud as he dominates over the halls like his personal milieu. Tetsurou admittedly finds the image of a standoffish royalty befitting of his characters.

Ushijima and hallways mix well. To Tetsurou, the halls are not the most original of platforms to host one's confrontations. He figures someone of the same prosaic tone wouldn't care to organize a showdown elsewhere.

Of course, his thoughts may be clouded plainly by his uninhibited sentiments of acrimony. He and Ushijima never really had the fondest of interactions. The few times they've met in volleyball courts had been a glaring proof that.

Tetsurou cannot deny he's the jealous type. He bristles at just the thought of never having the unchallenged privilege Ushijima has as Tsukishima's ex. Perhaps, to some unlikely degree, his bitterness is justified by the boy's unpresuming utterance of Tsukishima's first name. If Tetsurou cannot have _Kei_ , then Ushjima cannot have _Tsukki._ With that, the scores are settled.

Tetsurou braces his shoulders and prides himself with a stony disposition. Ushijima does the same, naturally accustomed to being treated as a threat.

"If you're here to give me the ex talk then don't bother." Tetsurou says, resistant. "Threaten me all you want buddy, but I won't stay away from Tsukki."

Ushijima maintains an unperturbed temperament. And yet, there is a patent indication of chagrin in the way he switches his steps to lean on the window-filled walls. "You think that's what I came to you for?"

"You tell me." Tetsurou follows his strides, his back against the open air and elbows lax on the sills. "Maybe you're just another self-entitled prick who goes around stirring shit for anyone who looks at your ex a different way. You that possessive, captain?"

"I'm not that crass, Kuroo."

Tetsurou narrows his eyes, grinning wryly. "I'll be the judge of that."

"I don't mean trouble." Ushijima contends. "I just need to talk to you about Kei."

For an instance, Tetsurou grapples with the thought of antagonizing Ushijima once more. But then he mulls over his discourtesy and finds that he doesn't quite like being the mean guy. So he paces his breathing and lolls his head to bask in the comfort of the skyline. Above is an ether in doldrums, free of clouds and desolation. Tetsurou sights upon its pacific outlines and catches the aroma of crisp autumn.

"What do you want to tell me?"

Ushijima pockets his hands and digs the heels of his shoes in blase fashion. "What are your intentions?"

Tetsurou blinks at his question, nonplussed. "Words travel fast, don't they?"

"Only when it's about interesting folks." Ushijima smiles faintly. "Some of the rumours say that you two are...involved with each other."

The boy grunts through his nose, evincing an odd sound that has Ushijima staring. "Didn't think you'd be one for gossip. But to quell your worries, I'll tell you now that nothing special is in going on between us." The wistful _otherwise_ of that reality is stashed away under the many piles of his unmet wishes. Oh, to be a young, romantic, pining fool.

"Do you wish it were?" Ushijima suggests the prospect, unabashedly point-blank that the sighing atmosphere is confounded for a moment.

Tetsurou does not question his motive. He takes a gamble and admits then and there, "A part of me does." After a stilted silence, he boldly adds, "You're gonna stand in my way, captain?"

Ushijima shakes his head and all but droops in relief. He looks to be delighted by Tetsurou's admission - as though it had been all he wanted to hear from the boy. "I won't. I simply needed to check something."

"You playing guardian now?" Tetsurou suspects. He turns to meet the waves of breeze and gawk at the gathered bunch bellow - all fresh-faced and oblivious like the juvenile youth they are. "Just because you had him for a while, doesn't mean you can act all sagely about the experience and treat him like some liability you wanted to shirk away."

Ushijima jerks, the boy's judgement unerring. He lets himself be surveyed up and down and bares no compunction in the way he openly confesses to his objective.

"I never meant to treat him like that." Ushijima says, unstirred. "I only wanted the best for him. I still do."

Tesurou nods. That, he can agree with. Regardless of the boy's complex and unreadable motive, Tetsurou knows an earnest wish when he hears it. His intuition has never failed him. Perhaps. trusting Ushijima's words wouldn't either.

"I'll treat him good." Tetsurou says it like he's accepting a challenge. His eyes are solemn, lips thin and stretched to a determined smile. "Better than you ever did."

Not for the first time, Ushijima parrots the determination of his smile. His face is still a static image but he denudes himself of feigned regards. _Please do_ , his eyes seem to say - burying what must have been months of regrets.

Tetsurou leaves him without offering a word back.

☾⇷☀⇸☽

"Are you Kuroo?"

Tetsurou looks down to greet his unlikely visitor. He rubs his nape and chances at freckled cheeks and balmy grins. "Yamaguchi... was it?"

"Yamaguchi Tadashi," The small boy iterates fully for him. "Tsukki's friend. I'm sure he must have mentioned me before."

The school bell signals the nearing end of lunch. By now Koutarou would have completed his business in the bathroom and Tooru would be well on his way to trouble him again for a half-assed Chemistry homework. Tetsurou counts his last minutes of emancipation from gibes and barbs and glides past the confines of his stuffy classroom.

"He did, yeah." Tetsurou talks as he jogs his way towards a nearby stairwell. It's vacant and safe from devious eavesdropping - just the appropriate setting to befriend a new acquaintance. "What can I do for you? Did something happen to Tsukki?"

"Nothing like that, Kuroo-san." The boy giggles at him, mirthful. If Tetsurou weren't so smitten, he would have greedily savoured every drop of angelic notes from the younger's lips. "Actually, I came here to invite you."

"Invite me?" Tetsurou echoes. "Is there a party or something?"

"Camping." Yamaguchi corrects. "Every weekend, my friends and I would go to this secret hideaway that's up in the mountains. We would always camp there for the night and stargaze. I figured since Tsukki's been talking with you.. we thought it'd be nice to get to know you better through this."

"That's...I'd love to come with you but Tsukki-"

"I already talked to him about it." Yamaguchi interferes.

"You did?" Tetsurou gapes. "And he agreed just like that?"

"I could be very persuasive." Yamaguchi beams. He fiddles with his hands and hides them behind his back. "Tsukki likes to talk about you a lot - _or_ more of complain about your antics, really. But it's been so long since we've heard him ramble for an hour about someone. I thought this would be a good time to arrange a formal meeting with the boy that's been taking up all of our conversations lately."

"And you're sure the others are okay with that?" Tetsurou squints, incredulous.

Yamaguchi nods at him with laudable surety. "If you want, you can invite some of your friends too. Might make the introductions less awkward."

"You're fine with me bringing Tooru along? Your friend _Tobio-chan_ might not like that idea very much."

"That's no problem. Kageyama-kun isn't easily provoked when Hinata and Yachi are around. Plus he's built up immunity against Tsukki, so I can guarantee he won't be much trouble."

"And Koutarou -"

"Kuroo-san." Yamaguchi snickers, light and full of life. "Things will sort themselves out once we get there. Please say yes?"

The boy bats his lashes cutely. Tetsurou chortles at the endeavour.

"You kids know how to ask a guy out, huh?"

Yamaguchi crinkles his face in uncontainable glee. "Well, not to brag but...If it weren't for me, you wouldn't have gotten that museum date with Tsukki."

"Sly and cheeky," Tetsurou adds two and two together and chuckles breathily, "I can see why Tsukki's friends with you. You make a good matchmaker, Freckles."

"It's not entirely to my credit." Yamaguchi arches his shoulders, simpering. "Tsukki could be a handful but you make a pretty good match for him, Kuroo-san."

A giddy flush prickles Tetsurou's skin. He massages a muscle on his back, under the pretence that he has sore muscles to keep his hands busy with.

"You think so?" The question is whispered meekly as though Tetsurou is greedy for reassurance. He hasn't been this unsecured of his wants. Being raised in a forthright household too unsparing of their truths, Tetsurou never had any problems announcing to the world the workings of his likes and dislikes. To the partisans and the concerned witnesses, he is open. To one Tuskishima Kei, the simplicities are diluted.

Yamaguchi taps him on the shoulder before he could wallow in the uncertainty. The boy smiles, warm and genial. When he looks up to gaze at Tetsurou, the spark of his eyes is charged with a surety akin to the ones his mother gives him. It spells out an affirmation Tetsurou has never thought of needing.

"I know so, Kuroo-san."

☾⇷☀⇸☽

"You know," Koutarou scarfs his seventh marshmallow for the evening. He's bunched up in a winter coat, tan skin red all over from the fizzy flares of a blazing campfire. "This isn't so bad. How come we didn't think about doing this before?"

Tetsurou grips his meat-filled skewer and tips it around the fire's edge. He answers the question casually as if having predicted Koutarou's inquiry. "Because Tooru is a loser who hates nature and I hate hanging out with a whiny Tooru. Good thing he came around. My godly charms must have finally seduced him."

A sharp kick lands on Tetsurou shin and Tooru comes into full view, orbs glazed with indignation. "Don't feel special, I only came here to annoy Tobio-chan."

"You must really have a big vendetta against this kid if you're this motivated to trek a 5km hike."

"Or he has a big, fat crush on him." Koutarou offers dryly. He hums a novel tune and twirls his skewer. His focus is aimless and not too avid about sledging peers. This is the first Tetsurou has witnessed him so content without acting excitable.

But he is a different case. He thrives on friendly ridicules and squabbles. It's what highlights the gist of his interests.

"Excellent theory, Detective Koutarou." The boy plays his part as the bonafide partner in investigations, caressing his imaginary moustache to further his agenda. "So which one is it, pretty boy?"

Tooru scoffs at his doltish caprice and shivers in his leather jacket. As always, he's dressed stylishly. Though his choices of clothing for the night is a far cry from the appropriate camping get-up.

"Before you bore me with your sitcom portrayal of knock-off cops, you of all people should know the target of the joke here is you." He scuffs his sneakers on a damp lodge, chafing years worth of its history. Then, with a pointed look, he directs his sight on the first-years setting up sleeping bags. "Don't talk to me about crushes when you're the one with a stagnant romance, lover boy."

"At least I'm honest about it." Tetsurou smirks, challenging.

The smile disappears when Tooru stresses on his next words, "Are you? If you are, blondie would have known by now."

Tetsurou considers countering his implication. When he's left at loss for a contradiction, he resorts to scrunching his nose and sticking his tongue out. Koutarou chuckles at the gesture while Tooru swiftly mirrors it.

"Real mature guys," Koutarou remarks. "Can't believe I'm not the silly one today."

"You'll get your turn," Tooru promises. He stretches his knees and pats off the dirt on his jeans. From the angle of his position, Tetsurou assumes he's going to claim Kageyama's left side of the tent. "Right now, I'm going to retire to bed and hope to god the bugs won't crawl into my sleeping bag."

"Already?" A new voice arrives. Tetsurou perks at just the lilt of it and nods at Tsukishima as he approaches.

Tooru sneaks a knowing look before replying to the younger, "I'm only using it as an excuse to annoy Tobio-chan."

"Huh, you really do have it out for him." Tsukishima comments. He walks past the older and claims a spot across Tetsurou's side. "Careful, he's snappy at this time of the day."

"When is he not?" Tooru jests. "Hey Kou, wanna come with? You can bother the other kids while they play with the telescope."

Koutarou shakes his head absently. "Nah, I'm totally fine here -"

Having caught up with Tooru's intentions, Tetsurou furtively nudges his friend's elbow. "Actually, that might be a nice idea. Freckles said Shrimpy's been dying to talk to you all day. You might not want to miss a potential apprentice, buddy. I heard he's a willing applicant."

"Really?!" Koutarou jumps at that, enthused. He digs his soles into the soil and discards his skewers to the bonfire's mouth. "Man, this night just keeps getting better and better."

"I couldn't agree more," Tetsurou adds. And if the glow of his smile is suspiciously more radiant than the blaze of flames, his friends are too out of earshot to point it out for him. For now, he's simply thankful for the unchaperoned time with Tsukishima.

"Well that was subtle." The boy tells him after a minute of cracking flares and chirping crickets.

Tetsurou shows little shyness for his friends' ploy. "What can I say? I have the best wingmen."

"Don't wink. It doesn't suit you."

Tetsurou snickers at his listless reproach and shuffles closer to the flames.

Milk-warm drafts slink through the woods and into the scene. The passing breath of eventide subsists in the talks yet to be disenthralled. Clamour is a luxury most enjoyed by their peers - one the both of them are excluded from. Tetsurou watches on as the thin stick in his hand cracks and plunges into the fire. Tsukishima tarries and trifles with his silence. Only the remnants of insouciant interludes cover the emptiness.

For a long repose, the absence of everything ploughs on without deterrence. Until - Tsukishima decides to make it a transient stimulation.

"Why'd you come here, Kuroo?" He asks, thrifty with his utterances.

"Because your friend asked me to." Tetsurou says, terse and circumspect.

Tsukishima shakes his head to recite, less unfeeling, "No, not that. Why did you come here?"

"Because I wanted to." Tetsurou answers it the same. He has an inkling Tsukishima wants more from him. "Do I need a reason for it?"

"There's always a reason."

"You think so?" Tetsurou unbends his legs and leans on the support of his straightened hands. He chances a glimpse of Tsukishima doing the opposite, with his knees hugged closely and arms around the inward curl of his body. Half of his face is concealed in cotton sleeves. The shine of his eyes is clouded dimly by the ebbing flickers.

"You know, some people just like to do stuff on a whim. People sing because they want to. People fool around because it's fun. Others are more ambitious. Others are more nonchalant. Life, purpose and all that jazz -some things are simply done without reason."

"We all have reasons for our actions." Tsukishima disagrees. His tone is lackadaisical, eyes somnolent. Tetsurou reckons the bait of sleep is making him a groggy prater. "We dream things and love things because we think we'd find our purpose through them. It's probably why people like to think big. The more dreams they believe in, the greater they think their purpose becomes."

"You can't fault them for that. We're bound to want greater versions of ourselves."

Tsukishima hums, polite in his dispute, "Only when you lose sense of the big dreams that you find truer meanings in the small ones. You'd be surprised how little of those reasons are truthful to your purpose."

"Should they be so devoted to that reality?" Tetsurou challenges. "What if the big dreams matter still regardless of everything?"

"I wouldn't know." The boy doesn't say it as incertitude. He says it as his accepted truth. Resignation is inhered within his notions, Tsukishima not once defying them.

Tetsurou sighs, ponderous. "These reasons...you think I can be a good one for you?"

"I wouldn't blame you if you get tired."

The light of faith dawns on him. Tetsurou chooses his words right, always a step ahead of miscalculations. _Say it slowly, phrase it well._ A promise treasured by sincerity.

"You don't have to worry about that. I'll never get tired."

This one, he's confident about. This one, he knows is true.

"Of saving me?" Tsukishima tries to urge him against his vows. But Tetsurou is stalwart, unshakable even at the face of Tsukishima's doubts.

"Of being with you." So he declares, his resolve more tenacious than before.

Tsukishima latches on to his confession with unspoken vehemence. Bit by bit, Tetsurou sees his golden gaze ignite with belief. It stirs in a vibration of meaning and ado, somehow inspirited.

"I hope that's what it is, Kuroo-san."

Tetsurou, with all the convictions he can muster - is ready to prove it to him. "It's real. _This_ , what I say and show you - all of it is real, Tsukki."

For a still second, the place is in a state of undisturbed quiet. Again, no speech is uttered between them. Then the cicadas begin to cry somewhere in the distance, eerily perturbed. Within moments, a dash of orange pounces on Tsukishima's back.

"Come on, Tsukki!" Hinata, Tetsurou no recognises, clings to the boy in affable familiarity. He squeezes their cheeks together despite the taller's menace. "What're you acting all serious for? It's time to stargaze, you promised to teach me how to search for constellations."

"Constellations?" Tetsurou shifts in excitement. He stares at the two, zealous. "You know how to look for them?"

"Yep!" Hinata chirps. He wraps his arms around his friend's neck, pushing weight against Tsukishima with barely enough effort exerted. Tsukishima tiredly allows him support. "We borrowed this telescope from the science lab so we could map out the sky on our own! Sensei was kind enough to permit us."

Tetsurou smiles, drawn by the younger's buzz. "Mind if I learn with you?"

"Actually -"

"Not at all!" Hinata intervenes before Tsukishima could even get a full say on the matter. "You're always welcome to try, Kuroo-senpai."

"Don't just decide on your own when you're not the one teaching." Tsukishima grumbles as he turns to flick his friend's forehead. Hinata winces at the gesture but keeps his pouted lips shut.

"Now, now Tsukki. We've got lots of time in our hands." Tetsurou lilts. "Care for one more student?"

Tsukishima glares. Then he sighs, his staid and humourless expression unwinding. "Don't try to make up your own constellations once we start."

Tetsurou raises his palms, elvish. "That one, I can't promise you."

"Then, it's decided!" Hinata cheers. He unlatches himself from Tsukishima's limbs and bounces towards an upward steep. Tetsurou trails after him, matching the verve of his pace as Tsukishima grouches at them to hurry.

They trudge onto the telescope's spot with impish fun embedded in their footsteps. The skies are astronomical in all their majestic infinity. One by one, the rest of their peers follow (with Tooru ever the petulant loser). They huddle to each other's warmth, earnest to learn of what the stars may tell them.

And despite the tiny specks charted across different vastness, they remain unblinking to the youth.

☾⇷☀⇸☽

Sunday's bliss ends at the break of day. When Tetsurou meets Monday, it welcomes him with a mob of wrathful delinquents out for blood. Any other day of his middle school life, this would have been the norm. He'd have Koutarou by his left (perched atop the roof of a dumpster or the branch of a tree) and Tooru by his right (posing handsomely by a rusting fence or seated on his bike -whining about bloodstains and stinky saliva on the fancy vamps of his designer shoes), a bat in his hand and an awful lot of piercings lining upwards the lobes and helix of his ears. But that was then - a fashion phase of sorts they've grown tired of and possibly even abhorred for its mere humour-inducing humiliation.

"And here I thought we finally had closure." The one habit Tetsurou has not grown tired of is conceivably the worst of him. He has a knack for eloquent provocations - and it is a talent not many appreciate.

"You left me too early, _babe_. Didn't think you'd be the type to fuck and go." Sato, a respected foe of unremembered alley fights, has long been a regular recipient of his goading. He's a helpless ruffian never one to take pride in his concessions - aways hungry for victories that mean nothing more but longer years in prison.

Tetsurou smiles as the boy hauls his bat to slash the air, calculative. The weapon is furnished with metal rims and spikes. It echoes with a growl when stomped on uneven cement. A meticulous assessment of it is sure to disclose some costly damage. If the boy swings right, a sizeable disfigurement is certain to be in order.

"Come on now, Sato. You really wanna pick a fight on a bridge? Not one for back alleys now, hm?"

Sato spits out a gnawed gum and rests the bat on his shoulders. He toys with its handle, orbs a dead black. "If I'm gonna beat the shit out of you, I'd rather do it at your favourite spot. Makes it more romantic, don't you think?"

Tetsurou holds his chest out of sheer mockery. "You know me so well."

His stance, though physically open to attacks, looms over the crowd with an unassailable tenor. The clench of his fists are slack, legs tall but remiss. Even the slant of his elbows is easygoing. And yet there is nothing about his aura that dreads an outnumbered brawl. They can come in _twos_ and _threes_ for all he cares, but Tetsurou has long practised his muscles to dodge a blow and land a hit. He's a hard mark who makes overnight targets. It's a rarity for it to be the other way around.

"Let's not stall." He angles his fists below eye-level. Some burly men behind twitch in suspense. With the bridge free of galloping cars and uninvolved nobodies absorbed in their own businesses, their vicinity is unbarred for a brutal tango.

"Shall we?" Tetsurou sings the invitation.

Thus begins a catastrophic melee of thirty against one. Tetsurou strikes more than retreats. His fists slam heads to ground and knees to balusters. The posture of his legs swerves him past the wallops and into the shaky foundations of the rabble. He leads the fight and dominates it, not once delaying a kick when he can inflict one.

To and fro. Back and forth. Any moves he can name and craftily make out of the spur of the moment. His motions act with swagger, varying from welts and bangs and savage bashes. The unsparing crashes and riveting collisions never come close to an inch of his hair. The fists armoured with brass hardly thrust any impact. When a lucky attack does ambush, it falls short of exertion.

Despite the rugged grunts and huffing fits, Tetsurou deems the strife lacking stringent gusto. The threats are subdued, their vows for glory and honour merely a decrepit fantasy. Tetsurou cannot fault them for the bore. His standards far outweigh reality, after all. Some may even say they are outrageous, a defiant contender of gravity.

"You're getting a little rusty, Sato." Tetsurou can't help but complain.

Sato snarls at his insult, ready to batter the antagonist of his story (if there ever was one to vindicate the enmity). He makes no time for cheap retorts. His focus is set on Tetsurou's head alone - unfortified and open for beating. Tetsurou can imagine the barbarous, bellicose methods he would use to make him bleed death. An obdurate fury fills his eyes - all pent-up rage and passion for revenge. It blinks in the same colour as the silver of his bat.

Sato is destined to kill. And he wields himself as unhesitating destruction.

A forceful shove rams Tetsurou to a short-lived stupor. The speed of it is cursory enough to regain footing but still at the ideal range for a blunt hit. If Tetsurou counts now, he can compute the exact seconds of his demise.

Under the dim, a silhouette raging in arrant spite, Sato broadcasts his parting speech for him, "I'm gonna love the reek of blood on you, Tetsu. See you at your funeral."

Tetsurou closes his eyes then, savouring the whoosh of a rushing bat. _5, 4, 3, 2..._

"KUROO!"

He feels himself get pulled out of the blow and into the safety of uncrowded air. An unlucky strike lands on a vacant target, bursting into ruptured echoes. The jagged reverberations perplex the swarm of peevish miscreants, too stunned to fasten their sprints. They trail after Tetsurou's shadows in a blend of nebulous lines but he pays them no mind.

When Tetsurou widens his eyes to make sense of his surroundings, he only sees the flash of gold and feels the burn of amber. Without warning, without announcement - Tsukishima traverses the overcast and fills every part of his vision. Tucked in the rescue of his firm grip, Tetsurou is nothing more but a smitten man in awe.

All his senses answer to Kei. And the wind carries them to the forefront of blissful oblivion.

 _This_ , showered with sunrise and limpid skies, is Tsukishima Kei. The boy Tetsurou so deeply adores. _This_ , teeming with his own brand of surprises and ambiguities, is an unknown Tsukishima Kei. The boy who, Tetsurou expects by now, is sure to come up with an ingenious plan for escape.

"How do you plan on getting us out of here?" He yells more than asks. Tetsurou hearkens to the resonance of his voice and trusts Tsukishima to respond.

"You can swim right?"

Tetsurou's breathing falters. He cocks his head, sheepishly puzzled. "Uh, Tsukki...I don't see why that is important?"

"Don't have to think!" Tsukishima pants as he pulls them faster to the elevated pavements. He throws a glance behind the balusters and shakily huffs out his words, "We jump. You save our asses. That sounds clear to you?"

The gears of his mind halt at that. Tetsurou grasps on the hand holding on his, nails inadvertently scratching skin. "That doesn't sound like anything sane - _HOLY SHIT!_ "

Within seconds, Tetsurou is dunked into the water. Pressure brings him down, dragged and shackled to the lure of the abyss. He moves more than feels. The desperate grab on his clothing jolts him into action. Tetsurou wounds his arm around too-slim waist, wrestling the push of streams and filtering the muffled sounds of misled chasers. His legs kick to raise his body upwards, emerging through the disordered ripples with gaunt limbs sticking to his back.

The water has more weight to it than Tsukishima, so Tetsurou is able to deftly manoeuvre their bodies to land. Once out of the freezing wet, Tetsurou plops to dry grass and coughs through clogged airways. The laughter of the thrill escapes his damp lips. He receives a chiding slap to his rib not a minute later.

"Are you mental?!" Tsukishima's voice is scratchy from the fall, but it still inflicts a trepidation on Tetsurou's ringing ears. The boy yanks him by his collar to make his ire unmistakably pronounced. He is uncaring of the position they're in, with both legs straddling the older's lap to snarl better.

This must be the first time Tetsurou has seen him worry over anything. His heart flutters at the concern reserved for him, albeit disgruntled. The apprehension is felt through the boy's shaking fingers, the jut of his lips laden with quivering imbalance and the barb of his expression coupled with anxiety. Everything about him spells discomposure and yet to Tetsurou, he looks as ethereal as ever. He has no doubt neither the darkening mist nor fading rays could ever conceal Tsukishima's exceptionality. Beneath it all, he remains recherche among the average.

"I think I'm in love with you." He blurts out the confession with little regret in his system. When Tsukishima registers his words, doused in red embarrassment and mayhem, Tetsurou comes to the sound conclusion that Tsukishima is prepared to offer him no reply. Maybe, he thinks nothing of Tetsurou's words. Maybe, he thinks more of it that he wants to leave things undone.

Unluckily for him, Tetsurou has a taut grip on the things he treasures dearly. He is more than intent on keeping Tsukishima where he wants him to belong. With him. In his embrace. Just the two of them. Tetsurou longs for surety more than anything else. If Tsukishima believes the same as he does, he has to say it now. Tetsurou has few bouts of patience left in him to pine.

Of course, Tsukishima does not make it easy for him.

"Is this another one of your tactics to save me?" He asks, pursing his lips to depict clear fragility.

Tesurou shakes to assure him _no_.

He looks at Tsukishima like he wants to commit the whole of him to memory. The irked brows he casts, the flushed glances he sneaks when no one looks, the clueless frowns and slew of art rants, the way he parts his lips when he sees a scenery he's fallen in love with or drawls his laugher when he's sure no one hears him - Tetsurou wants to store every bit and piece into his soul. Because he is sure that with every passing day, he will feel more deeply. He is sure that with every inch of his yearning, he will love better than before.

Because in everything he does, Tetsurou is sure of Tsukishima Kei.

"No." He whispers. Like a love letter sang in velvet notes. "This is real."

Tsukishima stares at him in scribbled musings. He gives him a look that's often saved in the intimacy of wearied novels and sketched faces.

"Is it?" He asks with terror and hope. "Is it what you promise it to be?"

Years from now, Tetsurou will more than understand this specific moment in time. He'll think more solemnly about the crack of his voice - how it breaks to a near sob and staggers in its breathing. He'll mull over the gloss of tears on Tsukishima's cheeks - burdened with a plea he is yet to realize himself and an ache that's long been oppressed.

But now, in this specific moment in time, Tetsurou is only looking straight ahead - at the future he so desperately wants with Tsukishima and the present that can unravel a path for them, _together_.

"This is real." So he repeats, blissfully ignorant as he presses lips against lips. He leans and takes as much as he can of the present. He gives as much as he can for what lies ahead. Tsukishima opens himself for all of it.

"This is real." So he repeats. With finality. With faith.

☾⇷☀⇸☽

"Strawberry," Tetusurou mumbles absently.

Tooru quirks his lips. "What? You like the lollipop that much?"

"No. Not that." Tetsurou hums. "His lips...they're strawberry."

☾⇷☀⇸☽

"Why did you do it?"

Tetsurou presses skin against frail wrists, tracing the patterns of aged wounds and swelling slashes - the marks of anguish and tragedies. He pictures, how painful it might have been to draw blades into your skin, to let it dig deeper and deeper as though to claw through the layers and tear apart the veins. Or maybe, they weren't as agonizing as he imagined them to be. Maybe they numbed him, robbed him of his senses, loosened the tightness of strings and purged the poison in his blood. Maybe, Tsukishima hadn't felt anything at all when he did it. Maybe, he hadn't given it care.

Tetsurou holds the hand closer as if to lead it to his heart. Tsukishima lets him with little unrest. He allows as much of the touches Tetsurou is ungrudging to give. He takes and takes as much of the devotion he is shown. Kisses of solace smear on the grief hidden beneath veneers, chasing vines in adagio.

Tsukishima revels in the tenderness without so much indecision - as though he is starved of it for most of his lifetime. Tetsurou flicks through the pages he leaves bare for reading, perusing over the riddling enigma that is Tsukishima's soul. He thumbs through faint streaks and wafer-thin skins, palm lines disappearing into timid swirls and untold fates. There is a poem imprinted on the layers, prospering symphonies that Tetsurou has never forgotten to be absorbed by.

"Why did you do it, Tsukki?" He repeats, patient.

Tsukishima sighs at the fingers that graze his pulse. They creep in _threes_ , sometimes _one_ but often more - just to secure the tangible proof of his existence. "I wanted to understand." He says, remorseless. "To live the ache as he did. To wallow in it until it kills...I guess I just wanted to be closer to my brother, to make myself believe he didn't mean it - that he didn't want it."

"If..." Tetsurou lags, musings adrift. He counts the fingers in his embrace and thanks the heavens it's warm with life. "If I give you enough reason, would you stay? Would you not think of it as much as you once did?"

Tsukishima smiles at him, dismal. "Don't be gullible, Kuroo. It doesn't work that way." The boy pauses, graceful like the peak of dawn's elan. "It's too cruel...to think about a future where the one thing you are passionate about doesn't exist at all. My brother had to lie to himself just so he could keep that fear at bay. I wouldn't wish such a curse on anyone else."

"I'm not scared, Kei." Tetsurou whispers. He brings the pulse to his lips and pecks on it. From the blue cords down to the willowy whirls. Above the spindly bones then down the sickly joints. A kiss on the wrists, the elbow, the shoulder - last, the lips. _An oath_. Tetsurou pledges him an oath. "I'll give you every reason I can think of and I won't stop until you believe me."

"Even if it takes years?" Tsukishima poses, gaze an unreadable shade of cerulean. "I'm not that special, Kuroo. _This_ will pass. _I_ will pass. It's not worth it."

"It is to me." Tetsurou perseveres. He will gladly take on a hundred years of quests and defiance if it meant he would have a shred of Tsukishima's trust. "I'll prove it to you as many times as you need. So please wait a little longer."

Because if he does, Spring is his. Then Summer. Then Autumn. And Winter. All of his seasons will be Kei's. All of Tetsurou will be Kei's. And the times beyond, spoken in the countless languages of trust, hope and faith - will be a love worth every wait.

"Please stay."

_Stay for all of it._

☾⇷☀⇸☽

On the 23rd, barely at the cusp of _their_ new Spring - Kei receives a call. Tetsurou is there to hear the news with him.

_"He's dead, Kei. Akiteru's dead."_

☾⇷☀⇸☽

** WINTER **

❅

Something is amiss in the weather. The days are the usual but the scent of it brews winter. Tetsurou sniffs through the aroma and imagines wintry terrains and unanswered phone calls.

"How are you holding up?" It's the first Koutarou says to him in the morning.

Tetsurou cranes his neck, bemused. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Koutarou drops his bag in a forced casual fashion. "Tsukishima hasn't shown up for two weeks, right?"

 _Ah_. So that must be it. Tesurou continued his days as he had days before Kei. He'd brushed his teeth first thing in the morning, scarfed down on a toast his mother made for him and stuffed his pockets with a month's worth of allowance then drove to school in his burnished black ride. He did not forget to kiss his parents goodbye each time, baring them that same silky grin and pearly whites he'd naturally show his peers. Things are exactly similar to the mundane.

That, Tetsurou now assumes, is what is amiss in the weather.

"I shouldn't act this affected." He mumbles to Koutarou, unambiguous as always. "I'm not even sure if he considers me a close friend." Frankly, Kei hasn't given him a modicum of clarity. For all Tetsurou knows, he is but a lovelorn admirer yet to have his confession rejected. They are without labels, hanging on to a thread of capricious vulnerabilities and unreachable number.

Kei can be a mercurial person if he wants to. Tetusurou gleans from the few times he has been able to contact the boy - only to be shut down with monosyllabic responses and clipped noises of assurances.

From the way Tetsurou has been denied updates and returns, he could very well conclude himself a passing company overstaying his welcome.

"I heard from Hinata no one was invited to the funeral." Koutarou claims a spot near the rooftop's exit. He exercises his arms, free of strain. "Seems like Tsukki's family wanted the whole affair to be private."

Tooru huffs somewhere in Tetsurou's far left. He'd sniffed the last of his cigarettes and decided shrewdly to purify the scent with the flowing currents of nature. "Tobio-chan told me Tsukki's family is new money. Says they're stuck-ups who don't want to let the media know about the suicide. Those snobs must find it embarrassing."

Tetsurou scrunches his nose in complete offence. "They're more worried about their reputation than their kid's death? No wonder Tsukki never talks about them."

"It's a tough spot to be in," Koutarou remarks. "So what are you gonna do about it?"

"Me?" Tetsurou points to himself. "I don't think I can do much at this point. Tsukki doesn't answer any of my calls. I've tried to message him a couple of times this morning but all I got was a _read_ sign."

"Let him grieve," Tooru advises. "He's in a state of shock right now. The boy must be struggling to process his brother's death. Three years of praying for his survival is a torment of its own. He's trying to learn how to be okay about it."

"I know he is." Tetsurou sighs. "But I just wish he'd let me help." _I just wish he'd let me make things better._

"You're no hero, Tetsu." Tooru reminds him, gentle with his honesty. "You don't heal people. They learn to do that themselves. Sometimes all you're needed for is support."

☾⇷☀⇸☽

Kageyama Tobio approaches him one ill-lit dusk under the shelter of a shabby shed. He holds out a key towards Tetsurou's face, the small metal ring jingling beneath the shiver of his palms. The boy is wet from head to toe and appears bedraggled. His shoes are squeaky, hair windswept and his blue blazer unkempt.

"He lives in his brother's apartment." Kageyama is direct, undeviating from the reasons for his arrival. He displays himself as a boy dead set on a mission. Nothing else but the outburst of thunder impedes him from talking. "The last time I visited, he holed himself up in his room and didn't come out."

"And you want me to give it a try?" Tetsurou mutters through the fog of his fizzling cigar. He casts the key a dubious look. "What makes you think he wants me there?"

"I don't think he wants you there, Kuroo-san." Kageyama answers, upfront. "But I do know he needs someone. Either you want to be that or not, it's up to you. I'm just giving you the key if you decide to come."

Tetsurou scrubs the butt of his smoke and chuckles emptily. "Why do I feel like you're going to judge me for whichever choice I'll take?"

"It's your decision, Kuroo-san." Kageyama states, contradictory to his vigilant tone. There is a casual air about him but Tetsurou is sure to break if he picks the wrong option.

"If I take it - the key, you think he'll be okay with me being there?"

Kageyama extends his arms and wordlessly asks the older to take it. "You can figure it out once you get there."

Tetsurou shakes his head as he chuckles. "If he kicks me out, you're picking me up."

"We'll see." Kageyama promises. Then he departs, fleeting alongside the haziness of pelting rain.

An hour later after their brief interaction, Tetsurou finds himself willingly invited to a lonesome doorstep. Kei has taken it upon himself to open the door, pensively noting the key in Tetsurou's palm.

Stilted pleasantries are exchanged in between hanging pauses. When little words are said, and Tetsurou is seated on a couch distanced from Kei's lawson chair, Tetsurou resorts to light questions. He smartly avoids any mentions of dead brothers or memories of melancholy. What he lacks in prolonged talks, he compensates through unpretentious conversation-starters.

"Have you eaten lunch?"

"Did you get the lecture notes from Yamaguchi?"

"Do you think you can attend school tomorrow?"

"Have you been watching a new show?"

"Did you get enough sleep last night?"

"Is there anything you want me to get for you?"

And then Kei would retort in absent hums and weak nods. He would have his knees tucked under his legs, a mug of coffee in his hands and a knitted shoal to keep him mellow. A string of _yes, no, maybe - i'm not sure, i'm okay, it's fine i don't need it_ wander about in hollow gaits.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Tetsurou would try to probe.

But Kei is willful in rejecting him.

"I'm tired, Kuroo." He whispers it with a shattered croak, spent and battered by grief he's long grappled with. Kei knows what Tetsurou is trying to do. Kei knows it's a fruitless endeavour. "There's nothing you can do about it."

"I won't leave, Kei." Tetsurou replies to him with firm certainty. He doesn't wait for a delay in his decision. He simply knows to be adamant.

In the unmoving silence, the dread of desertion stews. Tetsurou counts all the minutes he can spare to humour his insecurities. He is unsure of what Kei may tell him, frightened that any refusal from the boy would mean resolute dismissal.

Again, his watch ticks.

_10, 9, 8, 7..._

"One week," Kei mumbles the words almost like a fading weep. His gaze is pointed anywhere but at Tetsurou, shoulders sinking with unspoken fear for the future. "Stay with me for one week."

"You want me to stay?" Tetsurou asks even when certain of his answer.

"For all of it." Finally, Kei meets his eyes. " _Please_."

Tetsurou agrees without question.

☾⇷☀⇸☽

Monday, they talk about the weather - how it scorches their skin and sheds them off their heavy clothing. They bathe in the rays despite its hostile heat, two bodies submerged in the whistle of tepid breeze. Stories are shared, starting terse and sluggish before each of their conversations drag on until the peak of afternoon's lunch.

"Teach me how to paint." Tetsurou poses the idea when his lungs rid him of his final smoke. He'd only taken a sparse reserve of it, opting to pack what little he has in a suitcase filled with a week's supply of clothes. His breathing is frayed as he speaks, glued to the boy's patio. The spot he now claims as his own is modest and cramped, able to resound audibly without the background's interruptions.

"What do you want to paint?" Kei perks from his place behind the kitchen counter. There is a small watering can in his hand that he showers his pot of Peace Lily with. Soon, the plant will grow and Kei will be less morose in his mourning.

"That flower." Tetsurou points. "And maybe you."

Kei laughs, dry from sustained misuse. The edge of it is torn, dead and low to the zeal of keeking summertime. Tetsurou assumes the boy has spent most of his weeks sobbing in solitude.

"Nice try, Kuroo. We can stick with the flowers."

Tetsurou frowns, displeased. "And then you?"

The boy snickers at him again. He tips the can forward, draining the last of its content. "If you can keep up. The conventions of art can be tricky."

There is a tiny twinkle in his eyes as he leads Tetsurou to a space full of canvases. They sit, closer than the shy distances of before. A pale of azure hides beneath their lofty wooden stools. When Kei reaches to grab a small drip, the grace of his motions is elegant. Gingerly, he flicks his wrist and guides the paintbrush to a scenery of filmy petals and coiling leaves. Colours are stirred and spread, drawn over the expanse of paper and chalky hollows.

"You start with a memory," Kei instructs softly. He puts himself in a state of meditation, serene as he glows in sombre sunset. "Next, you draft the planes, sketch the details and –" One twist, to highlight brilliance, "then paint with love."

"Love?" Tetsurou shifts.

"Love." Kei repeats. "Once you have that memory engraved, your love for it will come alive in your painting."

"Even if it's just a simple flower?"

"Even then." Kei asserts. "It'll be there. Whatever form it takes."

"Whatever form..." Tetsurou trails off. He never pictured Kei as the romantic kind. Truthfully, Tetsurou is yet to learn the whole of him. And he feels a sense of exclusion that he so wistfully dislikes being part of. There is a thought, that perhaps he may never figure him out. 

He drags his brush to a harsh tilt with that very fear in mind. Kei aptly chides him for the error and goes on a small tangent of Tetsurou's amateurish perspective.

Tetsurou listens on despite his divided attention. When his thoughts have fully materialised into clumsier mistakes, his brush barely finishing half of its image, Kei chances upon the cloddish splatters alongside cedar frames and grimaces. Just before Tetsurou could perfect the right mixture for green moss while in a daze, the reign of his efforts is cut short by Kei's wry criticisms and half-hearted jests.

"I'll paint you someday." Tetsurou does not concede. And like most of his promises to the other, the words stand as proof of his tenacity.

Kei hums at his determination in warm amusement. He leans, close to Tetsurou's weight as he marvels at jagged strokes and lumbering progress. Tetsurou savours their contact and feels himself brighten in lucent pigments.

"I can wait." Kei tells him. And like most of his responses, there is an ache of want woven in.

Monday, they start anew. The fate they mould paints a path of its own separate from the uncertainties of tomorrow.

☾⇷☀⇸☽

"Teach me how to play it."

Tetsurou peeks from where he rests, legs splayed atop the cushions and head cradled on Kei's lap. The strum of his fingers is idle as he fiddles with the strings of his guitar. It sings of pure melodies, perfect if not for the absence of a name to complete it.

"What do you want to learn first?" Tetsurou offers his question in restful mumbles. Kei enchants him with magic - casting spells through the fingers that curl around his locks and the replies he returns in wispy giggles. Almost, Tetsurou sees no trace of the depressed boy he was days before.

"Anything." Kei steals a pause to think better of his answer. "Maybe about _this_."

Tetsurou hums, already provided with vivid scenery. Gold. Billowy curtains. Lukewarm winds and cityscape in flooded with apricot and lemon tones. Setting suns and rising ones. Almost like -

"Romance."

Kei weakly jerks from his seat and laughs. "Is that what it is?"

"Yeah," comes a frank confession. Tetsurou trifles with the notes, cheeky. He begins to lean away from Kei's touch, pulling himself up as he brings the guitar to his folded legs. "Do you want to play it?"

Kei takes a moment of contemplation and nibbles on his lips. Wide orbs dart through each string, keener than ever. "Where do I start?"

The older grins at him. Then he says, more than enlivened, "Well. Tsukki - you start with a memory."

He holds out a hand and waits for Kei to take it. With ample care, he guides the sickly fingers to metal lines and timber frets. Easily, a note echoes through the open mouth and startles a gasp out of Kei.

"Fumble with the chords. Sing along. Imagine your harmony -" Tetsurou glides the other's fingers to a resonant _G_. "And play it with love."

Kei parrots the movement he's been shown and tinkers with the _lyricless_ chimes of strings. _C_ to _G_ , major chords in a bumbling progression. Still, there is a unique loveliness to it that Tetsurou is certain to sound like Kei.

"Play with love." The boy mutters to himself, flirting with the words in an endless loop. Tetsurou stares at Kei and drinks in every pigment of his grace. There is not a version of the boy he doesn't find less or more desirable. But _this_ \- free of woe and ailing thoughts, Tetsurou lets himself favour a particular part of him.

"I'll sing to you someday." Tetsurou makes another pledge.

Kei is there to witness his vows again and again. With every oath made, he looks and answers the same.

"I can wait."

Tuesday, they learn each other. Their spiels. Their songs. The art of them and _them_. 

On Wednesday, things persist as a new _always_. There is an introduced routine dedicated only to their mingled seconds. Tetsurou writes a song in rhymes and thinks about a future of the same habits, the same patterns and the same, imperfect muses. 

At dusk, he names the melody _Tsukishima Kei_. The skies grumble in content agreement.

☾⇷☀⇸☽

"What do you think of love?"

Kei flicks then taps the bristles of his brush to spill tinctures. They drip in iridescent peach, ivory and chocolate. Tetsurou angles his head and fixates on the posture of his back. Appeased, Kei removes his gaze from him and returns to his canvas. 

"I thought you'd be the last to ask something like that." He speaks, hurried, as though Tetsurou will budge at any moment and devastate the _memory_ he has of him. "You seem like the type to flirt his way into things and proclaim themselves a romance guru."

Tetusurou tones down a chuckle to not risk drastic movements. He is a lazy sitter on Kei's veil-covered couch, and though it may look like a simple masquerade directed to be comely in its casual character - Tetsurou has yet been allowed to budge an inch of muscle. 

"It's a farce." He reasons, itchy from the linen he is surrounded with. The petals of _tsubaki_ , _ume_ and _sakurasou_ scatter about in stray traces, the trail receding below his bare toes. "People assume I'm some kind of a casanova straight out of wattpad. You'd be surprised how many of the rumours about me are false. I can't say the same about Tooru though."

Kei snorts, smudging the creases of his garish palette. "You have plenty of wiser people to ask from, Kuroo. I may not be the best one to answer that question."

"But I want to hear yours." Tetsurou says, purposeful. "What do you say, Tsukki. How does one go about defining love?"

"I don't really see the relevance of this conversation but..." Kei whisks the flat end of his brush and dabs it in sakura pink and tan coffee. For Tetsurou's lips, he suspects. "If I have to define it, I would say love is a conclusion."

"Oh?" Tetsurou quirks a brow. Kei admonishes his change of expression and wordlessly orders him back to a neutral front. "You mean love comes last? That doesn't sound...romantic."

"You asked, so shut it." Kei shushes. He sticks out his tongue in concentration, the slide of knife on canvas slanted. "Our versions of romance simply reflect the state of our hearts. All the sentiments we have align with what we define ourselves as at the present."

"Getting philosophical now, aren't we?" Tetsurou lightly teases. "I have to disagree though. I've been told of love as otherwise. If you think about it, love could be the very beginning of things- an inescapable emotion that defines rather than defined."

"If you're so sure of your supposition then what's the point of asking me?" Kei scoffs, desultory. "You seem to have a sound idea of what love is."

"No, no Tsukki." Tetsurou tuts. "I know what love is for me. I want to know what love is for you."

The scratch of his grazes halt. Kei spares a moment to glance straight into Kuroo's eyes. "Does it matter?"

"It does." Tetsurou smiles softly. "It matters more than you think, Tsukki."

Kei takes a while to answer him. He is ruminative, intent on a question when he's barely able to sweep the flaw of a line of his unpolished painting. The boy is short of confidence for his work, Tetsurou sadly notes. 

"Love isn't just a feeling that happens." Like a speech abridged, Kei's reply is condensed. "You trust, you hope, you bear faith. And then, as an eventuality - you fall in love. Regardless of your misgivings, you'll learn to get there."

Still, the summary of his thoughts is worth an introspection. Tetsurou, struck by the sense of his words, dares to learn Kei through them. 

"And did you? Did you get there?" So he asks again. The older is more than aware of the many times he's posed the question to the boy - has thought too deeply over every response he receives. Once, Tetsurou had fretted over the changes in his answers. He'd dreaded the thought of Kei ever mentioning a love unheard of - a love he's had no part in.

Now, he dearly hopes Kei will have a new one for him. 

"Almost." Kei answers. It's similar to the ones he's said before. But it is altogether different too. There is a lilt to it - like an implication Kuroo is miles away from truly understanding. 

_Is it me?_ Tetsurou thinks. And he hopes, _dearly_ , that the answer is him.

Thursday, Kei finishes part of the painting.

He teaches Tetsurou to complete the half of him at the later hours of Friday.

☾⇷☀⇸☽

"Columba." 

One Saturday evening, by the freshly-painted parapet of Kei's patio, the boy is taught a new word. They are hidden beneath the gloss of sunless coal and ink, the world oblivious to them as they gaze at it with certainty.

"Columba?" Tetsurou searches for it up in the sky. He's been told, many times by the other, that a million sparks could be discerned from the rest with just the point of a finger. If one were to open their eyes just a little wider, they would be able to unfold the mystery the heavens never tire of hiding - a passage his brother holds dear to his heart, Kei had said.

"Noah's Dove." He adds, hands outstretched - _longing_. "The tale says a dove was sent from the Ark to gaze upon the land. It returned, sometime later, holding an olive branch in its beak. It was then that Noah knew the Great Flood was receding." 

Tetsurou stares ahead as he aptly connects each dot. He looks as if he'd sought out for it countless times before. And like a painter, stellar with his talents, Kei draws the streaks for Tetsurou to see - to marvel at the same beauty he must have had marvelled at every minute of his slumberless night.

"Was it your brother's favourite?" The older inches closer to his side, offering an embrace fit for the crouch of Kei's body. 

Kei leans to his warmth and smiles, ever so softly, "We used to stay up all night and plot the stars as we claimed them. And every night, Nii-san would always have this look in his eyes like he wanted to paint it. As if he truly believed he could make a perfect replica of the universe."

Tetsurou absently laces their fingers together and listens. He thumbs through bumpy veins, rough indentions and ghostly lines. _Heart, fate, sun - life._

"He had it all planned out." Kei mumbles it like a secret prayer. The ends of his tone are lagging with a distinctive croak akin to the whirring of the winds. "He was so sure of everything until suddenly - he just wasn't. I watched him give it up so easily like it was nothing."

"Do you hate him for it?"

"Sometimes," Kei whispers, awry. "I just think about running after him."

"I won't let you." Tetsurou says. His grip is fixed, steady and tireless. He wants to cement himself a faithful presence in Kei's life - a solace Kei can fall back on and believe in.

 _Stay_. His touch pleads - as though Kei is drifting away and Tetsurou can barely pull him back.

_For the laughter to be shared. For the promises to be made. For today and the days after. For every moment of every tomorrow -_

_What we are and what we will be,_

_Stay for all of it._

☾⇷☀⇸☽

Sunday, Tetsurou plays him the song. 

Kei weeps in tumbling notes and clings to his caresses.

Sunday, they lay in bed together - bare to themselves and the days beyond. They drown in the lure of bliss and devotion. Two souls are fused into one, unflagging.

 _"I love you."_ Tetsurou embeds it on every kiss he leaves on the other's skin.

Even then, Kei continues to weep.

☾⇷☀⇸☽

"Columba." 

He stalks the moles that splatter on his skin and imagines a constellation out of them. The water drips across the pellucid paleness of his complexion, cascading down to the dints of his spine. 

"Not like that." Kei corrects him. He situates himself at the other end of the tub, drenched in the steam of hot water and bubbling soap. Coyly, he guides Tetsurou's fingers to his neck, gently skimming past the collarbones then hobbling last to his chest. "Columba."

Tetsurou grins contentedly as the boy laces their hands together. "Say, Tsukki. Do you still think I won't make a good hero?"

Kei flops his legs against Tetsurou's knees. The water splashes their undraped skins and colours them with a mist of lilac. "Do you still think about saving me?"

"Not anymore." Tetsurou says. He frees himself from the loose grip and cradles the boy's cheek. Kei leans into his touch, willing. "That's something you have to do for yourself, right?"

Kei presses his palm atop Tetsurou's and turns to kiss it. He simpers, but he doesn't offer him a definite answer.

"You'd make a good hero, Tetsurou." 

☾⇷☀⇸☽

"Are you sure you don't want to go together?"

Kei twiddles with the loose strings of his scarf and shushes him with a kiss on the lips. It's deep but fleeting, brimming with affection and doting care. When they part, separated by the thin layer of oxygen, Kei grins at him. It's a perfect curve strained at the edges - solely meant for Tetsurou to make sense of.

"I'll come after I clean up this place." Kei promises. He wears a flimsy shirt broader than his shoulders, bearing the marks of love carved into his skin. _Tetsurou's shirt. Tetsurou's love._

"Don't be late." Tetsurou reminds. The strings of his guitar chimes as he leans flat on his soles, his black case pressing against his elbow. "The show will start at 9. We'll be the last to present so you have enough time to prepare before you get there."

"I won't miss it, I promise." Kei snickers, eyes creased and smile youthful. He tips his body forward and plants his farewell kisses - three seconds on the forehead, four on the lids, then on the cheeks and last, ten seconds on the lips. Tetsurou savours all of it like pure euphoria. 

"I'll wait for you." He says, beaming. 

Kei gently pushes him off his doorstep and back to the welcome of sunrise. "You'll be fine on your own, Tetsurou."

"I'll wait for you." Still, Tetsurou assures. 

Monday, the world is new. Tetsurou leaves with the memories he has of Kei - and memories he is yet to have of him.

Monday, the world is _love_.

☾⇷☀⇸☽

When Tetsurou returns for school, he barely makes it past the rickety hinges of his classroom doors before he is bombarded with questions of his whereabouts and clandestine affairs. They ask him the usual _who's_ and _why's_ and _where's_ \- chatting him up of his missed lectures, the unwitnessed hilarity and unheard jokes only twittered by the class. 

They make their worries known through them, fond as they ruffle his hair and snicker chaffs about his unkempt blazer. Yaku berates his absence with a kick while Terushima tackles him to the ground. Iwaizumi is less attentive to his unannounced appearance but shows just as much interest as Sawamura's impromptu interrogation. Sugawara, ever the nonchalant, simply welcomes him with a cursory hug. He gives a few words of admonishment as part of his officer's duty then flashes him an upbeat smile fresh as the morning dew of Monday.

Tetsurou reciprocates double the warmth and affection he's been shown - all the while skipping in his steps as he makes his way towards his seat.

Of course, Tooru and Koutarou are there to greet him last. They're more than aware of what he's truly been up to for the past few days. Still, they bare their grins in brighter shades as though having only heard of him now. A suggestive flash glitters in their eyes and if Tetsurou were to amble slower, there is a high chance they may bellow his secret rendezvous to the heedful world.

"How was the honeymoon?" Always, Koutarou starts his conversations with risque humour.

"Divine." Tetsurou answers, swooning. He plops down on his chair and blissfully sighs, only scowling when Koutarou and Tooru wiggle their brows and smirk. "Not like that, you _idiots_."

"Hey, as long as you had fun." Tooru shrugs his shoulders, eyes crinkling. "There's no judgement here, lover boy. Those seven days must have been one of the greatest moments in life."

"There's no doubt about that." Tetsurou proudly huffs. His guitar jingles as he reposes in his seat. "That reminds me, he said he's going to watch the performance today so please don't screw it up."

Koutarou scoffs at him, his drumsticks peeping from his snug pockets. "We should be the one telling you that. I know it's the honeymoon phase but you better be sure you practised right."

" _Please_. I had plenty of rehearsals" Tetsurou grins. "I even played the first draft for Kei."

"Oh?" Tooru perks. "What did he say?"

"Didn't say much, actually." Tetsurou sheepishly replies. "But he did cry when he heard it."

"Tsukki? Crying?" Koutarou blinks in disbelief. "Are you sure that's him?"

"You'd be surprised how much of _outside_ -him isn't true." Tetsurou preens. "Once, when we were in the tub-"

"Save the smut for later, Tetsu." Tooru kicks the shin perched atop the desk's edge. With his fluid mobility, he resiles away from the window's panes. "Sugawara got us a free pass for the music room. You can yap 'bout it during rehearsals."

Tetsurou grimaces as he soothes the sting on his leg. Distractedly, he asks, "You got the deal?" 

"Yep," Koutarou responds. He bounces off his table and throws Tetusurou a gift. "We also got you that."

The glinting piece of metal settles on the palm of Tetsurou's hand. When he cranes his neck to examine it, he catches sight of his own initials engraved in bold raven. "You got me a golden _pick_?"

"Don't act so surprised now." Tooru teases. "You can give us your thanks by helping us win the shit out of this competition."

Tetsurou fondly scoffs at his companions. Somehow, the love that implanted itself in Tetusrou's chest doubles a hundredfold. He curls his fingers around the pick before pocketing it close to the thrums of his heart. 

"Will do," He tells them, determined.

Monday, Tetsurou is both love and promise.

☾⇷☀⇸☽

The stage they enter is wide and lavish. The backdrop is a draped curtain stained with crimson and garish lustre. When they step into the circle of a spotlight, the crowd howls at them in rapturous pride. Somewhere from the back, Tetsurou can make out the shape of a banner made especially for them. He scans his eyes and sees his class situated in the front row. Farther from them are other familiar faces. Tetsurou glimpses at Kageyama and Yamaguchi. He hears more than sees Yachi and Hinata. But there's not a sight of gold anywhere in the array. Even when Tetsurou squints his eyes to discern from the mass, he finds no glint of moonlight.

Tetsurou is unnerved by the absence that he gets himself soberly distracted.

"You can look for him later, Tetsu." Tooru passes by him with ease written in his footsteps. He pats on Tetsurou's back and eyes him sharply, "Worry about not screwing up first, okay?"

Tetsurou secures the strap of his guitar and huffs. "I told you already, that's not gonna happen."

"We trust you. It's your song after all." Koutarou appears from behind. He has his drumsticks ready, hair pulled back as he grins handsomely at the two of them. "You guys ready?"

"Always." Tooru paces ahead of them. The flair of his posture is instant in its effect. Already, half of the crowd is swooning. 

Tetsurou fondly scoffs at his flashy act. "Such a flirt."

"You're one too." Koutarou chuckles. "Now come on, we have a show to win."

Tetsurou casts the seats one last glance. When he finds no hint of Kei, he sighs through the tight line of his lips and smiles. 

"Right." He mutters. Inwardly, he hearkens to the voice of his fretting. _Kei won't come. Why would he? He's not obliged to. Kei isn't -_

"He'll be there, Kuroo." Ever the preceptive, Koutarou tries his best to solace him. 

Tetusrou nods, unconvinced. Still, he dares to parrot the comfort in his mind. _He'll be there. He'll be there. He'll be there -_

"Ladies and gentlemen, let's give it up for Class 3-A!"

Before he realises it, music blasts across the room and echoes in ecstatic beats. Tetsurou plays his notes free - booming with a demand that bares the heart and soul of his music. Whatever worries reverberated in him seconds ago dispels in the heat of the thrill. The unpleasant stirrings subside and replaced instead with riveting melodies.

_No dread. No angst. No panic._

Tetsurou clutches on the steel of his mic stand and sings the lyrics as he would any other day. Full of endearments and zest - like he'd only felt the prick of love for the first time. It was as though he was revisiting moments of his life from years ago, a star-eyed boy stuck within the margins of his audience-less room fuelled still with a heart brimful of fantasies. In his hands, he holds his passion dear to him. The curves and strings of his guitar paint his volume wild and alive - open to the witnesses of the world. 

Tetsurou frees himself of anything and lets the tingling harmonies flow. Nothing, not even the stark blot of golden, can divert him from his focus on the high keys and low drawls. In his mind, it is only Tetsurou and the rhythms. 

In his mind, is a first love unbridled.

The guileless fun bursts when, minutes after their performance and exchanges of congratulations, Kageyama comes stumbling backstage with unimaginable distress pressed on the tight lines of his face. Tetsurou catches sight of his stagger and falters as the stream of worries emerges anew.

Something is awfully amiss. Tetsurou _senses_ it.

His stomach churns, the cogs of his brain going haywire. The first thing he says to the boy is a teetering, "What's wrong?" 

Kageyama looks at him through glistening eyes and speaks in shuddering breaths. The pace of his pants is broken, chafed with mayhem.

"Kuroo-san...The police called. T-hey said something terrible happened. Kei, _he_ \- Kei is..."

"What? Kei is what?" Tetsurou grips the boy's shoulders, feeling tremors and turmoil. "Kageyama, what happened?"

One stifled gasp and, "Kuroo-san...Kei is _gone_."

As soon as the words register, the electric thrill in his veins decay. Whatever music maundered by pierces his ears until he's rendered deaf. Tetsurou counts the seconds before his own breathing stops, whole body festering.

_4, 3, 2, 1..._

And just like that, Monday turns bleak.

_0._

☾⇷☀⇸☽

_"You'll be fine on your own, Tetsurou."_

☾⇷☀⇸☽

The police concluded it as deliberate. 

Death by suicide.

They had gotten a distressed call from a concerned neighbour who found water sweeping through the entryway. And when the police had arrived for inspection, they were led straight to a bathroom adjacent to the flooded entrance. What they saw left them grimly baffled.

In a tub, mixed with crimson, sat a boy bare in nothing but the blood seeping out of his wrists. They said he had been frosted over by the cold of running water. And rather than glum, he appeared peaceful - as though he had simply fallen asleep.

When Tetsurou had been brought for questioning, hours after the ill-fated incident - he'd told them, in a quiet, dismal tone scratched of thought or feeling,

_"He was smiling when I left him, officer."_

And the people could only gawk in pity.

☾⇷☀⇸☽

Tuesday came and passed. So did Kei.

Tuesday, the world is dead.

The days that come after is a blur of fading gold.

☾⇷☀⇸☽

His grief prevails.

The feelings become nothing more than a memory of tragedies.

☾⇷☀⇸☽ 

One fateful Thursday, a day estranged from the normalcy, he basks in the silence of a rooftop long deserted. The halls are emptied still. The chatters, gone and astray. News of a young death pervades and wane - coveted as a mere remembrance of heaven's ruth. 

Tetsurou dangles on the edge of its finality and listens in a daze.

"What now?" Koutarou stands by him as the loyal companion of his grieving. He never leaves, not for once. "What happens now, Tetsu?"

"Nothing." Tetsurou says, robbed of verve. "We weren't anything."

_And so they were nothing._

☾⇷☀⇸☽ 

_"I met you before."_

_"You did?"_

_"The day before my birthday, my brother took me to the beach for a picnic. We were sitting there, idly chattering - when you and your friends came to camp on the rocky shoreline."_

_"Oh. Now I remember. We were supposed to go on a trip to the other city. We drove Kou's red jeep and Tooru never stopped whining about feeling carsick. That's when we had to stop for a detour and then..."_

_"You ended up going to the beach."_

_"Yeah. But what I don't remember is seeing you there. Are you sure it was the same day?"_

_"My memory is sharp, Kuroo. I can vividly recall you climbing up a large boulder like a dumbo and almost hurting yourself."_

_"Huh, that's weird - I really did that?"_

_"You were trying to get my straw hat back. It got caught in the wind while we were painting. I tried to run after it when you bumped into me. And then you told me that I didn't have to worry because you'd fetch it for me instead. I said okay but...I didn't expect you to go that far for a hat."_

_"Hold on...you were that goldilocks boy?"_

_"Yeah, that was me. Also, can you stop with the silly nicknames?"_

_"That's...funny."_

_"What is? Goldilocks?"_

_"No, not that. I just find it funny how... you just meet some random stranger thinking you won't ever see them elsewhere after that, but-"_

_"Then you find them again."_

_"Yeah. Then you find them again."_

_"Who knows? Maybe we have to part ways someday. And we'll become strangers to each other."_

_"I don't think I'd let that happen. No, I won't allow it."_

_"Don't be foolish, Kuroo. Humans shouldn't play god. Everything follows a process. Sooner or later, they'll end."_

_"You're a bummer, you know that?"_

_"Listen Kuroo, that's just a what-if. There's a lot of possibilities existing for everyone. Maybe, if we have to part ways now - we'll get to see each other in another world."_

_"That might take a while to happen."_

_"But it will happen."_

_"You think so?"_

_"I know so."_

☾⇷☀⇸☽ 

Among the throngs of people clad in black silk and spider lilies, stands out a salient _griever_. He is clothed differently than the rest, covered by a sweater too large for his frame and coloured in canary.

"Columba," The boy mumbles in bated hiccups, drenched to the bones as he sobs. "He said he'd teach me that one this week. He promised me we'd find it together."

Hinata clings to his sleeves to anchor himself to the ground. And asks, _pleading_ , "Why did he lie, Kuroo-san? Why did he do it?"

Tetsurou tells him nothing in return. He tips the umbrella forward and shields the boy from rain, deaf to the cries of the crowd.

 _I don't know._

☾⇷☀⇸☽

"I can wait."

Liar.

☾⇷☀⇸☽

Rows of chrysanthemums are strewn all over moss and stalks of grass. Below its high ground is a slope congested with dull-coloured tombstones. Even in the light, where the keeking stems swagger in gaiety, not an inch of the place evokes contentment. Vines of lurid green dusted by sun-baked needles and drooping trunks grizzled with aged sap - build a meadow of cemetery tailored to all mourners. It proudly beams as an open plane cursed by a perpetual illusion of overcast. Oblivious to the serene relief of rainless weather - the grave of the dead looms in an eerie reminder of despair. 

Tetsurou finds it befitting to call it the world of cautionary tales.

"You've been visiting this place every day." A voice, cracked and forlorn, calls to him. "Yesterday's flowers are yet to wilt."

Tetsurou doesn't need to change stance to know who it belongs to. 

"Don't talk like you don't do the same, Ushijima." He chuckles, forcibly droll. "What are you here for this time? Are you going to tell me about how much I fucked up? 

"It wasn't your fault, Kuroo." The boy's pitch is neither high nor low. _A neutrality_ \- Tetsurou makes out. It's far from churlish or truculent but still weighs a discernible sourness. Just from the tacit distance of their shadows, Tetsurou can surmise they are yet to hurdle past delicate tension.

"You think so?" Tetsurou gambles on the borders and traipses over its bounds. He's crouched himself close to the lumpy soil with posies in his fist -too sullen for condolence. As he smokes, his sunken cheeks inhaling the barest minimum of oxygen, haze moseys and drizzles in dews.

"I almost had him." He starts, throaty. The few ghosts of fog that wrestles in his lungs evaporate into knackered breaths."I knew something was going to happen but I thought - _no_ , I just...I believed it wouldn't." 

Then he pauses, gulping guilt and woe and anguish. The whole of him is barely strong. "I thought I gave him enough reason to stay."

Ushijima walks to his side, aided with nothing but his sympathy. The consolation he gives him is kind, compassionate in a manner that has Tetsurou expelling prior judgements of him. He wordlessly listens to each word muttered. Everything he bears in his gaze is mindful care for Tetsurou's melancholy.

"Maybe... maybe if I understood him better, if I knew better I-" _If I meant even a single bit to him then,_

"We only understand half of people, Kuroo." He says, sage in his delivery. "Maybe even less. His decision was his alone." 

A hand grips Tetsurou's shoulder, earnest with its offered succour. "He made up his mind. You just happened to be there."

When he's finally rid himself of the misty burden, Tetsurou bares the man a smile, aslant but grateful. He nods with no real thought to doubt the boy or himself. Together, they wallow in the grief -not as strangers but as recent companions. The overcast remains, though less gaunt in the presence of a _feeling_ solace.

Finally, at the last hour of their silent mourning, they depart. Tetsurou retreats to the familiar street of his affluent neighbourhood and Ushijima does the same. With their paths divided, Tetsurou spends most of the skulking sundown. And when evening falls, Tetsurou buries the ageing miseries to the pits of his soles -only clinging on to the fragments of his reason to keep himself afloat.

For the first time in a long, desperate while, Tetsurou sleeps undisturbed.

☾⇷☀⇸☽ 

Funnily enough, Tetsurou only now realises the weight of his attachments. The precarious medley of strong emotions pushes on the drag of his steps. Resentment, remorse, a seething sense of betrayal and inevitable shame - sentiments embraced with an abstruse intensity that Tetsurou lets sink and seep and haunt to tire himself of the cycle.

It is a progress less encouraged by most, but Tetsurou counts it as progress nonetheless. Day by day, the strain of his smiles sag and relax. And though considerably thinner than before, his limbs are no longer flaccid in their motions. The sheen of his tan spells out health and spirit. Even his eyes appear less glazed. None of his wrinkles droops in inconsolable frowns, easier to erase when Tetsurou allows himself to feel. 

Most days, Tetsurou is not as subdued. He can go weeks chattering about the recent manga with Koutarou. He can go weeks crafting jokes to ridicule Tooru. He can go weeks living and being without bitterness churning in his stomach.

But, Tetsurou is yet to smoke a cig and laze on riverbanks. But, Tetsurou is yet to strum the strings of his guitar and scribble notes.

"Kuroo-san." 

\- Tetsurou is yet to face the whole of everything.

"Yamaguchi." He welcomes the challenge regardless. He dares to - if ever wants to relieve himself from it. 

The boy stands before him without caution. He is burdened by the heft of his own dolour. But even then, he is stouthearted. 

"How are you feeling, Kuroo-san?" When he greets him, leading the line of their gait into the compact sidelines of bare steels and unpolished staircase, his mannerly composure is unbounded. Tetsurou wishes he were as levelheaded as the boy with his heartache. Friends, foes and lovers and near-lovers - he supposes the grieving for each vary in their grieving.

"I'm alright." Not long ago saying so meant nausea - Tetsurou would lie through gritted teeth and feel the repulsion numb his senses. He learns easier to treat it as true, _honest_. "Better than before. You?"

Yamaguchi hides his arms behind his back and idly paces on the stairway's landing. Tetsurou accommodates the space of the first tread, surface pliant under his weight. "I'm getting there. Kageyama-kun, Yachi-san - we're getting there."

"Hinata?" Tetsurou probes.

Yamaguchi smiles a feeble smile, tone fragile. "He's taking it the hardest. But I know he'll be better too. We all are, aren't we?"

He asks it more to imply than inquire. Tetsurou replies to him a question.

"What are you doing here, Yamaguchi?"

The younger picks up on the suspicion laced within the words. So he sighs, not too elusive. "It isn't a novelty for Tsukki to talk about death. Weeks before his brother passed, he asked me for a favour. He... _requested_ that I hold on to his paintings if something were to happen to him." With his fingers, he twirls the stray strings of his sweater. _Cinnamon_ , like the nostalgia laced within his volume. "I thought it was a little odd of him to say stuff like that. For a long time, I didn't think too much of it. Well...until now, that is."

Tetsurou breathes heavily through his nose and purses his lips. "And I'm guessing you're here because of that?"

Yamaguchi nods, soundless in the deafening unrest of things. 

"Some days, I can't help but replay the conversations we had. I always end up crying afterwards. A part of me aches, so _much_ \- how in those moments we shared, I spent little time looking out for the warning signs. When I think about them now, I think about what I could have done better, what I could have said to make things alright. I think about what could have been.

The thing is, Kuroo-san... I blame myself too. Everyday. You could say that's why I'm doing this. So I can be at peace with myself - with my regrets."

Tetsurou can more than understand the sentiments shared with him. The vulnerability of it, the heartsore pain and haunting torment. Tetsurou feels them deeply as much as Yamaguchi does. The one commonality between the mourners lies at the heart of their reasons - to regret and to forgive, to be free and to be well. Anything to find sense in the demise of memories. 

"He never said it back." Tetsurou can say it much too easier now. The truth of his memories is lighter to admit to himself and to others. "I doubt he even felt it."

Yamaguchi quirks his lips in polite disagreement. He leans himself against the wall across Tetsurou and quells his fidgeting. "Don't speak for the dead, Kuroo-san. It's not fair to them."

"What about leaving us? You think that was fair too?"

The boy stays quiet, slightly withdrawn. Tetsurou notes the discomfort in his stillness and sheepishly chuckles.

"Sorry, that wasn't a nice thought to propose." 

Yamaguchi shakes his head and pins a lock of hair back to its place behind his ear. He stares now, the brief glaze of tears gone in his eyes.

"Humor me one more time, Kuroo-san." His voice is respectful of the hush. When he pushes himself off the wall, the thud of his soles is phantom-like. "Take the painting. Tsukki would have wanted you to have them." 

☾⇷☀⇸☽

He unseals the veil of the canvas and finds a reflection of himself blinking in sun streaks. Beside his bare feet is a guitar, sleek like the black of his bike and golden on the sides. Tetsurou sees a smile paint the tan of his skin and laughs breathily as the sublime clarity of his expression comes to full view.

He stares in awe and fawns over the lucid outlines of his portrait. Once done, he points his gaze below and catches sight of a title.

 _Love_ , it reads.

☾⇷☀⇸☽

Bit by bit, he begins counting the days again. 

Today is Wednesday.

☾⇷☀⇸☽

"I didn't think I'd find you here." 

Tetsurou turns to acknowledge Hinata's presence. He lolls his head and lights a cigarette, watching idly as the fumes disperse. 

"It's my secret turf," Tetsurou coughs. The familiar intrusion of smoke easing into his lungs. "How'd you get here, Wendy?"

Hinata scrunches his nose as trudges towards the older. He pockets his hand and shows dismay for the name. "Wendy?"

Tetsurou lightly bites on his cig and gestures at his hair. "Cause of the locks. You're sort of a redhead, aren't you?"

The boy fiddles with his strands. "They're burnt orange."

"Technically a redhead." Tetsurou insists. Then he pats a free spot on his side and looks up to meet sunlit grins. "Sit."

Hinata obliges readily. He takes a space no shorter than the stretch of his limbs, legs sprawled and arms free for support. Tetsurou praises the sight of him, soaked in fiery blurs and olive shine. There are tired lines along the seams of his expressions. And still, he beams with an abounding fondness for the bright-lit skylines.

"I heard about your band the other day. You're going to play tomorrow, aren't you?"

The older sees the boy's lips move, but he takes a while to register their utterance. Only when the redhead cranes his neck to his direction that Tetsurou's senses snap at him to reply.

"Yeah. We, _uh_ , we got this gig at Austen's pub. You can come if you want, I already gave Yamaguchi free tickets."

"I know." Hinata smiles. Then, after a long pause, "I'll come, by the way."

"That's good to know." Tetsurou offers drowsily to their exchange. 

A second after, the hush resurfaces. They sit and drink in the ceaseless flow of scenic streams. Once, when Tetsurou had sought out the rise of crepuscule, the rivers had been nothing but trends of blue. The scene is much too rare these days, however, with Tetsurou opting to unwind in the early afternoon and take his leave before sundown.

Any other day, Tetsurou would have done the same. Now, a part of him is eager for a change. 

"Say, Hinata..." He starts, uncharacteristically shy. The boy hums at him to continue, patient with Tetsurou's fumbling. "You still haven't learned how to look for Columba, right?"

Hinata shifts in his place. With a wispy voice, he answers, "No. Not yet."

"You think you can stay a while so I can teach you?" He blurts the invitation with less volume, as though flustered by his own gesture.

The boy notes his simper and arches his shoulders. Grinning blithely, he says, "I'd love that very much, Kuroo-san."

Thus begins another Spring.

And soon comes love.

☾⇷☀⇸☽

.and persists still.

**Author's Note:**

> "how do we go about defining love?"
> 
> this, perhaps, is one of the greatest and most common of questions posed in student essays. and each time i am to encounter it, i struggle with giving a concrete definition of my own. i wondered then, for a long while, how i should go about defining love more distinctively than the many definitions that came before. but now, i find that people, regardless of the simplicity or complexity they regard love with - can only go about truly defining love when at peace with themselves and the state of their wellbeing.
> 
> i hope, that those who grapple with finding deeper meanings in love will get to see through themselves more and possess a romance they can solely call their own. a romance that bears trust, hope and faith.


End file.
